Fools Rush In
by Rose and Psyche
Summary: ...Where angels fear to tread and wise men never go. When the G.A. takes it into her head to go globe trotting and decides to bring Nancy and Peggy with her, an unusual train of events unfolds.
1. The Telegram

July 1, 1936. Afternoon watch 1545

* * *

The Telegram

* * *

_I leave to-day to rejoin my dear old friend, Miss Huskisson, who, in accordance with her usual summer routine, is to take the waters at Harrogate._

~ The Picts & the Martyrs

* * *

"Don't call me Ruth!"

Peggy sighed and closed the door to the parlour. Bob Blackett turned down the corner of his newspaper and winked at her, then resumed reading. Peggy glanced irritably back at the door as the tones of Mrs. Blackett and Nancy's voices grew increasingly strident. They'd been going at it hammer and tongs for ten minutes. Nancy wanted to sail into Rio in shorts and Mrs. Blackett wouldn't allow it.

"I won't have you seen in public in anything but a dress, Ruth! For goodness sakes, you're nineteen!"

"Don't call me Ruth!" Nancy snapped.

Peggy threw herself in a chair. Even Uncle Jim was under the weather. He'd been in his study for close on two hours trying to turn down miniature cannons on a jeweller's lathe for a model ship. She could hear the hum of the motor, then the trilling of the gravers on the metal echoing like some strange night bird. Then there was a shout and she knew that the cannon had worked its way loose of the chuck again and was probably eluding Captain Flint on the floor.

The jangle of the telephone ringing echoed down the hallway. Mr. Blackett put down his newspaper and went to answer it. Peggy followed absently.

"Yes?" Mr. Blackett said. He scribbled violently for a moment on a pad of paper, "Will you repeat that please?...right, thank you…no, no reply, not yet."

"What was it?" Peggy asked. She craned her head, trying to read what he had written, but no one but a cryptologist could decipher Bob Blackett's handwriting.

"It's from your Aunt Maria," he said, his face unreadable.

"From Aunt Maria?" Peggy exclaimed, "Don't tell me _she's_ coming?"

"No, no, nothing like that." He stood for a moment in indecision, then took the stairs two at a time. "Molly!"

"Who was that calling?" Captain Flint stuck his head out of his study, bringing with him the smell of burnt metal.

"It was a telegram from Aunt Maria," Peggy said.

"What did she have to say?"

Peggy shrugged, "He wouldn't tell me. Something beastly, probably."

Captain Flint withdrew and slammed the door. Peggy went outside.

~o*o~

Peggy was standing at the end of the promontory looking at the rolling hills that circled the lake when Nancy closed the front door and raced across the lawn. Peggy noted who won the argument. Nancy was wearing a dress.

"That telegram G.A. sent, what was it about?" Nancy asked. "They wouldn't tell me anything."

"I don't know either," Peggy said, "Dad wouldn't say."

"Hang them both," Nancy said vehemently.

"Who?" Peggy asked, startled, "Mother and Dad?"

"No, great aunts and dresses," Nancy said. "Come on, let's sail. Let's pretend we don't care, act as nonchalant as possible. I know they're dying to tell us."

They boarded their little varnished dingy, with _Amazon_ across her stern, and beat across the lake towards Rio. It was a beautiful day for a sail, the wind just strong enough to make their wake sing in the afternoon silence. A steamer was gliding towards the head of the lake and Mount Kanchenjunga was just touched with pink.

Nancy felt the smooth wood of the tiller under her fingers as the world of her childhood rose around her with a wind of spice scented memories. Kanchenjunga towered, rusty-sided, in deepest darkest Africa, while the Great Wall of China girded the Tops. The lake itself, an inland sea, perhaps even the Mediterranean, stretched glittering to the edge of the world. The hot sands of Wild Cat Island burned in the sun of the South Seas, while the Amazon River dashed from South America in her mighty course past Beckfoot, the gray-sided castle of the native queen. Amazon herself was the golden hulled galleon of a pirate lord, heavy with the bounty of a thousand kills – gold, silver, ambergris, precious gems...

Nancy shook her herself and the quiet water of Lake Coniston blurred back into her vision, edged by the familiar shores of England. How real it had all seemed! Now as she thought about it, it stunned her that the Swallows had seen it as she had, a place to explore and conquer.

"Do you realize that the last time we saw the Swallows was three years ago at John's graduation?" Peggy asked suddenly.

"That was only one day," Nancy said, "We haven't really seen them since 1932."

"When you capsized the Amazon and the Death and Glories tried to salvage her."

"And nearly drowned me." Nancy added. "It was my fault."

"No it wasn't, the wind changed."

"I should have jibed before."

"Do you think it was John's fault when he sailed Swallow into Pike rock?"

"He was being rather reckless, so was I and I was older, I should have known better," Nancy said, "Nothing came of it, though."

"We only lost the compass," Peggy said.

"Oh, shut up."

It was spring and the summer tourists had not yet arrived. Rio was rather quiet and sleeping, not full of noise and people as it would be when everyone arrived. The shopping was done with quickly; new rope and shackles for Amazon and some things Cook had asked for. They were both in rather a hurry to get back. The telegram from the Great Aunt was nagging at both of them.

~o*o~

They heard voices as they went down Beckfoot's front hall.

"It isn't as if it were Germany," Bob Blackett's voice echoed from the drawing room.

"War is coming, but I think they'll be back safe before it happens," Captain Flint added.

"It _would _be educational…" Mrs. Blackett began.

"Let's see what they say," Mr. Blackett said.

At that, Nancy opened the door and looked in. Mrs. Blackett was on the sofa, Captain Flint was leaning against the piano and Mr. Blackett was sitting on the arm of a chair. He looked up and grinned at them.

"How would you two like to go to Egypt?"

Peggy squealed. It came out rather louder then she had anticipated.

"With Aunt Maria?" Nancy said hesitantly. "Giminy."

Bob Blackett took a crumpled piece of paper from his pocket. He made to hand it to Nancy, then remembered no one could read his hand writing.

"_Am accompanying friends to continent, then Alexandria, Egypt. Would be educational for Ruth and Margaret. Will pay fare. Maria Turner_."

"It might interest you, Nancy," Mr. Blackett added, "It's one of the biggest naval bases in the world. Your friend – what's his name? Walker? – is stationed there. You'll get plenty of sailing in on the native fishing boats."

"The pyramids and the sphinx!" Peggy said, her eyes shining.

"But why is Aunt Maria going to Egypt?" Nancy asked, puzzled.

"With friends," Uncle Jim said, "It's not a bad place to go. It's very historical and very beautiful."

"It might be worth it, Aunt Maria or not," Nancy said, "Golly. Egypt. I'd go to a hundred dances if I could go to Egypt. What an adventure we could make."

"They'll be plenty of adventure without you making one," Captain Flint said. "There's adventure anywhere Nancy and Aunt Maria are in the same place."

~o*o~

After some telegramming and more packing, Nancy and Peggy, in the company of Mr. Blackett, boarded a train and steamed south. Mr. Blackett had come too, half to see them safely to the Great Aunt and half to see his sister, Helen, in London. After a long wait in a lobby and a switch of trains, they arrived in London six hours after they left Beckfoot.

London.

The silhouettes of Parliament, Big Ben, St. Paul's, Buckingham Palace, misty on a London afternoon; they were ingrained on their minds as clearly as a much loved face. London was the centre of their nation. Roads ran to it as surely as veins to a beating heart, everyone was drawn to it. It had been the biggest city in the world until that young upstart, New York, had gotten too big for its britches. Since the Romans had built a fort there in AD 43, it had been the capital of Britain and for a time, the world. The face of London had changed over time; over a thousand years, plague, fire and a host of differing peoples had slowly chiselled it indelibly into the ground. It would take more than time to wipe it away again.

Deep in the heart of London, St. Pancras railway station rose around the Blacketts, tall, grey and busy. A multitude of people hurried every which way. There was a muffled roar from a thousand feet and a thousand voices. Peggy clung to her father's arm. Nancy led the way.

They flagged a taxi and a moment later were in silence as they closed the doors.

"Grosvenor Hotel, please," Mr. Blackett said quietly and the tall, red brick spire of St. Pancras faded behind them. The clock read four-thirty. They travelled beside the Themes for some distance, the water blue under the sky. To the right, they caught glimpses of Buckingham Palace flickering through the trees, golden in the afternoon light and Peggy felt a sudden pang as she saw it. King George had died in January and Edward was on the throne.

Their goal was London Victoria station and the hotel that stood back to back with it. Nancy and Peggy's train would go out from there to Dover in the morning, but they would meet the Great Aunt and her friends this evening in the lobby of the Grosvenor Hotel.

The taxi pulled over and they stepped out onto the sidewalk under the towering front of the Grosvenor Hotel. A porter took their luggage and a moment later, they were stepping into the green columned lobby of the Grosvenor. They were brought into a side parlour, where three people rose to meet them. One of them they recognized at once as Great Aunt. The other two were a man and a woman, the first stout and white haired, the latter looking rather wispy and dressed in yellow.

There were hellos and at last, introductions.

"These are my nieces, Ruth and Margaret," the Great Aunt said, then added, almost as an afterthought, "And their father, Robert Blackett."

"Honoured to meet you," the white haired man said, "I'm Admiral Huskisson, retired, you know, and this is my sister, Adelaide."

"Very pleased to meet you," Nancy said.

The Great Aunt inquired cordially after their trip, markedly ignoring Bob Blackett. At last she turned to him.

"I trust you left Mary and James in good health?" she asked coldly.

"Yes, very well." Bob Blackett said.

There was a stiff silence.

Miss Huskisson looked from one to the other, then turned to Nancy, hurriedly breaking the silence, "Maria has said so much about you. I understand that you are very interested in sailing?"

Nancy breathed a sigh of relief to know that there were some people who had better breeding than her aunt. "Yes, very much," Nancy said, forcing a smile. "We've both been sailing since we were very small. Our Uncle taught us."

The Great Aunt shifted slightly and suddenly Bob Blackett found himself standing outside the circle. He took the hint.

"I believe I will say my goodbyes," he said.

"Oh, you won't stay and dine?" Miss Huskisson asked, turning to him.

"No, I'm afraid not," Mr. Blackett said, "I told my sister I would be at her house in-" he glanced at his watch, "fifteen minutes."

"Well, it was very lovely meeting you," Miss Huskisson said, "Give my best to your sister."

"I will, thank you." Mr. Blackett said, with a smile for Peggy and a wink for Nancy. "I'll come again tomorrow morning to see you off."

As he made for the doors, he looked back; Miss Huskisson had hooked her arm through Nancy's.

"It might interest you to know that Alfred and I have an ancestor, Thomas Huskisson, who was at Trafalgar."

Then the doors closed and he was out on the sidewalk that led past the Grosvenor and turned at Victoria Station.

"Taxi!" he called.

~o*o~

Nancy and Peggy dined that night with the Great Aunt and the Huskisson's in the public dining room. They were tired, very tired, but they learned the reason why the Huskisson's were going to Alexandria.

"I was one of Cunningham's instructors at HMS _Britannia_," Admiral Huskisson explained. "And later he was under my command on the battleship HMS_ Implacable._ He's just been promoted to second in command of the Mediterranean fleet. I haven't seen him for years. Pound is another old pal; he's the commander-in-chief down there."

"So, we thought we'd go down and visit them," Miss Huskisson finished, "With people like Hitler in power and all it might not be safe to travel in a few years."

"We have a friend who went to HMS _Britannia_," Nancy said.

"Ah, then you know that HMS _Britannia_ is not a ship, but a school," Admiral Huskisson laughed.

"It was very kind of you to think of bringing us." Peggy said. She reached under the table with a foot and kicked Nancy.

"Yes, very kind," Nancy added.

"Well, of course I had to have Maria along. I couldn't very well go without my old friend," Miss Huskisson said. "She's told us so often about what fine, lovely girls you are and we thought to invite you too. It has all worked out very pleasantly. We will all have a lovely time."

"Since you like sailing," Admiral Huskisson said, turning to Nancy. "I'll see if I can get you a tour of a battleship while we're in the Med. Would you like that?"

"Very much!" Nancy said, then added, "thank you!"

* * *

Author's Note:

This is a multi-chapter story for a change. It may not make a great deal of sense unless you've read our other S&A stories. It's pretty historically accurate, through we have taken some liberties and we have tried our very best to remain true to the spirit of the books.

The characters are older than they were and must be expected to be different since growing up happens to everybody, even Amazon Pirates. You may not agree with the thoughts and feelings of the characters, Nancy in particular, but we feel that they are supported by the books, _Secret Water_ and _The Picts & The Martyrs_ particularly.

If you should have questions, comments or criticisms during the course of the story, please tell us!

Enjoy!

~Rose and Psyche

Don't take it _too_ seriously, if you like, count it as a Peter Duck story.


	2. Lanvin and Worth

July 3, 1936. Morning Watch 0800

* * *

Lanvin and Worth

* * *

_I must go down to the seas again, for the call of the running tide_

_Is a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied;_

_And all I ask is a windy day with the white clouds flying,_

_And the flung spray and the blown spume, and the sea-gulls crying._

~ John Masefield

* * *

Their train left at eleven the next morning, but the Great Aunt declared that there was plenty of time to go to Harrods.

"I don't know what Mary was thinking letting you go dressed like that," she had said, "your clothes are atrocious. We must at least get you something decent to wear on the boat."

"Well," Miss Huskisson said, "We will be in Paris for three or four days, we will have plenty of time to go to Lanvin's and have the girls outfitted."

"Oh my dear Adelaide," Aunt Maria said, "Lanvin's is too – I prefer Worth's myself. We simply can't go to Lanvin's."

"But Maria," Miss Huskisson argued, "Worth's isn't even French, it has an English designer."

"Much more sensible," the Great Aunt said shortly.

The argument continued into Harrods, even as they wondered at the Egyptian columns holding up the ceiling. Miss Huskisson was arguing hotly for a red tweed suit for Nancy. The Great Aunt didn't like it. The Admiral made tracks and Peggy was squashed between the clashing of the titans, she was irked to notice that Nancy had disappeared.

"Where ever did that child run off too?" Miss Huskisson remarked when at last she noted Nancy's absence.

"I must tell her it is not safe to simply disappear like that," the Great Aunt craned her neck.

"There she is!" Peggy said as Nancy came around dress racks and tables with piled expensive soap, perfume and make-up, gleaming under the electric lights. They saw that she had a blue herringbone suit over her arm.

"What about this?" she asked, waving it at them.

"I do not like it," the Great Aunt said. "I think this white one is better."

"Well," Miss Huskisson said. "It does match her eyes, but Ruth, dear; do look at this red tweed. It sets off your hair so nicely."

"It is a general rule," Great Aunt began sternly, "That people with red hair do not wear red."

"Her hair isn't exactly red-" Peggy began timidly.

"The rule still applies."

"It doesn't really matter," Nancy said calmly, "I've already bought this one. Now do let's get back to the station, Father and Aunt Helen were going to be there to meet us."

~o*o~

Peggy leaned out of the window and waved. Her father waved back, smiling, as the platform began to slide away. Aunt Helen was standing beside him, looking rather like Nancy with her dark auburn hair. Peggy waved again and her stomach lurched. They were on the Golden Arrow, the train line that would bring them to Dover. Then they would be crossing the channel on the _Canterbury_ and they would see the white cliffs of France.

Neither Nancy nor Peggy had ever been out of England and here they were, going to Egypt. Peggy glanced at Nancy. She sat across from her, waving and looking very sophisticated despite all her efforts not too. She didn't look scared, she never did.

The station vanished away behind them and the buildings of London that rose around them were soon left behind. The countryside flashed by, green and tranquil. England was a beautiful place, quiet and peaceful, her people bustling about without a care in the world. They were on their own island fortress, even surrounded by a moat; their navy was the largest and most powerful in the world; their air force was modern and well trained. Life had never been better.

~o*o~

They sailed on the _Canterbury_. She was a steamer, very modern and large, her tall black sides towering above the fishing vessels at Dover. They sent a picture postcard of her back to Beckfoot and everyone signed their names.

Nancy and Peggy leaned on the rail and watched as England fell astern. The water was very blue and the cliffs above Dover white as the clouds in the sky. The _Canterbury_ slipped away, at first barely making a ripple, then gaining speed and leaving bonny old England behind. Nancy and Peggy stood on deck and watched as the emerald shores of Britain vanished in the mist above the restless seas. The white cliffs gleamed very white, shadowed with blue against the blushing clouds, and seagulls, dark against the blue sky, drifted lazily on the wind.

"Just think," Peggy said leaning over the rail and staring down at the white foamed bow wave of the _Canterbury_. "The next land we see will be France. Won't _that_ be exciting?"

"Very," Nancy threw her head back in the wind, letting it run cool fingers through her hair. "Did you know a tailor tried to parachute off the Eiffel Tower?"

"No," Peggy glanced at her, "Did he hurt himself?"

"I wonder what it would be like to parachute?" Nancy mused. "I'd like to try it sometime."

The _Canterbury _charged onward and the clouds gathered deeper in the sky. Squalls were coming and the mist on the horizon made visibility low. The seas were iron grey now, and laced with white foam. The weather of the channel changed quickly.

"It's hard to imagine the Swallows sailed across this in a storm," Peggy said at last.

"Galoot. They didn't sail across the channel, they sailed across the North Sea," Nancy said.

"_I_ know," Peggy said, "But it's still hard to believe. You never did say what happened to the parachutist."

"What parachutist?" Nancy asked.

~o*o~

Half way across, the captain came over the loudspeaker and told them that on clear days one could see both Dover and Calais. Visibility was low, but Nancy and Peggy left the Great Aunt, the Admiral and Miss Huskisson in the wicker chairs in the palm court and went out again. They stood under one of the lifeboats and stared out over the rolling grey waves.

"Look! Peggy!" Nancy grabbed Peggy's arm and Peggy looked. There, hull down and flying, Peggy saw the white sails of a schooner, heeled over in the wind. They were barely more than two white specs, but they watched them until the mist at last swallowed them up.

"I wish the _Wild Cat_ was a real ship," Peggy said wistfully.

"So do I," Nancy said, "but it would never have worked. Camping and mining are all very well, but mothers are unusually hard headed when it comes to sailing in a schooner."

"Have you seen the cliffs of Calais yet?" Admiral Huskisson stood behind them, his white hair blowing in the wind. "I remember one year I was steaming through here in the HMS _Badger_. The visibility was one hundred percent and we could see both sides as clear as a photograph. That was a beautiful day."

"Why did you decide to go into the Navy?" Nancy turned to look at him.

"Traditional," Admiral Huskisson said. "My great-great grandfather, Thomas Huskisson, was the captain of the HMS _Defense_ at Trafalgar."

"A ship of the line?" Nancy asked.

"A third rate," Admiral Huskisson replied.

"That would be seventy-four guns," Nancy said.

"You _do_ know a lot about ships," the Admiral said with a laugh. "Where did you learn?"

"From my uncle and a bit of reading," Nancy said. "A friend of mine always knew a good deal more – he even used to put time into bells – so I decided to learn more and show him up."

"Is this the friend in the Navy?" Admiral Huskisson asked.

"Yes," Nancy said. "John Walker. He's a Lieutenant. He and his brother and sisters and used to go camping with us on an island on our lake during summer holls."

"He wouldn't be related to Captain Edward Walker or Admiral William Walker?"

"Edward Walker is his father," Nancy said.

"William Walker's grandson? Well that's something else!" Admiral Huskisson exclaimed. "Edward almost dropped off the face of the earth."

"I didn't know John's grandfather was an Admiral," Peggy said.

"_Is_ an Admiral and peer of the realm, he has a seat in the House of Lords," Admiral Huskisson said.

"How did _he_ become a peer?" Nancy exclaimed.

"He was created Baron when he was promoted to full admiral and is a knight of the order of the Bath. He did a few valorous things during the Great War."

Nancy mulled over this new information.

"He was more than outraged when his son married an Australian. Cut him off entirely." Admiral Huskisson continued.

"We like Mrs. Walker very much," Peggy said. "I don't think I've ever met a nicer person."

"Well, in some ways it's probably better for Edward to be out from under his father's thumb. He's made a much better showing of it than his brother." Admiral Huskisson leaned on a railing and stared out to sea. Quite suddenly, he was a captain on the bridge of his own command. He was weighing the odds as he chased another ship in the Great War. He could almost see her stacks, her towering bows as she sliced through the rising seas, he could see her great guns rising towards the sky.

"Is John's uncle in the Navy, too?" Nancy asked.

"Submarines," the Admiral said distastefully. "Didn't even have enough talent to end up in a surface ship."

Nancy cocked an eyebrow, "I would think it would take talent to run a submarine."

"Submarines are cowards," the Admiral replied with vehemence. "They should stay on the surface where you can see them and fight like men."

"I see something!" Peggy said suddenly. "Over there, no, it's gone, no; there it is again, I do believe it's Calais!"

Nancy looked up from examining the polished teak of the deck and squinted into the wind and haze. Yes, distantly she could see a thin line of white on the horizon. She glanced at Peggy, "You ought to have said 'land ho'!"

"Sorry," Peggy said. "Land Ho!"

~o*o~

At Calais, they left the _Canterbury_ behind and boarded the Flèche d'Or, the continuation of the Golden Arrow train line. Like a golden arrow, they shot towards Paris, the heart of France. The red poppies danced beside the gleaming tracks, the lilacs were abloom, the lavender tinted the fields with a reddish haze. There were vineyards, bright and green as the mountains that rose tall and misty in the far distance.

They arrived in Gare du Nord at exactly five thirty-five. It was larger even than Victoria Station. It was beautiful and gray, almost like a cathedral with huge arched windows. In five minutes Admiral Huskisson, who had been there before, had hustled them out the front entrance and flagged a taxi.

"Look Nancy – I mean, Ruth! Over there!" Peggy cried pointing, "On that hill, you can just see some domes! Is it Notre Dame?"

"Get in Peggy!" Nancy was dragging her into the back seat.

"Was it?" Peggy asked, "There, you can just see it!"

"That's the Basilique Du Sacré Coeur," Admiral Huskisson said. "Notre Dame is on an island in the river, closer to where we're staying."

"_Where_ are we staying?" Nancy asked.

"Hotel La Bristol Paris."

"It's on the same street as Lanvin's," Miss Huskisson said happily.

"And Worth's," The Great Aunt reminded her.

~o*o~

They arrived at the Hotel La Bristol Paris and were ushered to their suites by bowing porters. The hotel was beautiful, even more luxurious than the Grosvenor hotel. It was older and had a large flower filled courtyard that scented their rooms with the sweetest perfume. It was built in the very early eighteen hundreds and they could see its age in the intricately carved woodwork and the mouldings that lined the roof and every private balcony.

"Let me bring the girls to see a bit of Paris before dinner," Admiral Huskisson suggested, "We'll only be here for a few days and we must make the most of it."

"I think you had better not," Aunt Maria said, "I would not have you all late for dinner. How would it look?"

"How would it be if I brought them to Église de la Madeleine? It's only just down the street a few blocks and well worth seeing." The Admiral said.

"Do let us go Aunt Maria," Nancy said, turning to her aunt with the most winning expression that she could muster, "I think we'd both like to see as much as we can before we go. It would be very educational…"

The Great Aunt hesitated, "Oh, very well, I suppose you may. But you will _not_ be late. Tomorrow we must rise early and go to the House of Worth."

"Lanvin," Miss Huskisson said.

~o*o~

"It was built 1806, or at least that's when Napoleon decided to build it. He wanted a monument to himself." the Admiral explained as he stepped out of the cab.

"It's a _church_?" Nancy exclaimed, scrambling after him and stopping to stare up at Église de la Madeleine.

"It looks like the Parthenon," Peggy said.

It stood bathed golden in the evening light, rows of columns bearing up the roof and carvings of Jesus and the saints. For a moment, Nancy fancied herself in Greece more than two thousand years ago staring up at a temple to the gods.

"It's beautiful," Nancy said. "Can we go inside?"

Inside, they found themselves in a world of gold leaf and brilliant paintings surmounted by a coffered dome and an oculus, reminiscent of the Pantheon, casting a long ray of golden light on the marble floor.

"This is where Chopin's funeral service was held," the Admiral said, his voice echoing off the gilded walls.

In the front of the church was a very large marble statue of Mary Magdalene ascending to the oculus and above it was a very large painting of Napoleon in kingly robes surrounded by archbishops and popes.

"Is this church dedicated to Mary Magdalene or Napoleon?" Peggy asked, turning slowly as she stared up at the ceiling.

~o*o~

They were back in plenty of time for dinner in the beautiful wood panelled dining hall of the hotel. They were taken back in time by the gilded furniture and the sweeping landscapes painted on the walls, by the waiters with white towels over their arms and the deep red merlot in the glittering crystal glasses. They knew that their time in the heart of France would be too short.

Admiral Huskisson raised a toast.

"To England!" he said. "And to the King!"

"And Mrs. Wallis Simpson?" Miss Huskisson asked with a smile when they had drunk to it.

* * *

**Author's Note:** I ought to have mentioned earlier that Thomas Huskisson really was the captain of HMS _Defense_ at Trafalgar. It was just sheer chance that the G.A.'s friend happened to have the same last name. Thomas Huskisson had a brother William, who was an MP and unfortunately known as the first casualty of the railroads when he was run over by the locomotive, _Rocket._

It also ought to be noted that I'm the proud owner of six great aunts and one great-great aunt (who's younger than most of the great aunts) and all are certified first class. I hope yours are too. :p

~Psyche

**Guest:** That's a beautiful poem you quoted. I've always enjoyed books with poems at the top of each chapter and I actually put in quotes or poems at the tops of mine. Hopefully you'll enjoy the poems I've chosen.

I'm glad you like the story and thanks for the review!

By-the-bye, have you ever considered using a pen name, or pseudonym when you write reviews?


	3. Port and Starboard

July 4, 1936. Morning Watch 0800

* * *

Port and Starboard

* * *

_When speaking of a man ashore_

_ We never hear you say_

_ He's a common this or common that_

_ Be his calling what it may_

_ Be he a travelling tinker,_

_ Or a scavanger, or a sweep_

_ Then why call us common sailors_

_ Who battle with the deep?_

~ Sea Shanty

* * *

Peggy woke early the next morning. At least she thought she did, but on close inspection, she saw that Nancy was already up. Peggy dressed and went out into the sitting room to see the Admiral sitting behind a newspaper, smoking his pipe. For a moment, she thought of her father or Uncle Jim perhaps, reading a newspaper just that way, but then the Admiral lowered the newspaper and smiled up at her.

"Pity it's all in French," he said grinning, "I've always been hard up in French."

"Good morning," Peggy said, "Do you know where Nan-" she paused, "Ruth is?"

He looked thoughtful for a moment, then pointed the stem of his pipe at the door, "I believe she's gone swimming. You'll find the pool on the roof."

~o*o~

The pool on the roof was housed in a room lined with tall windows on either side. The room was empty except for one yellow bathing dressed dolphin blowing and sputtering at one end of the pool.

"I can _never_ stay under!" Nancy exclaimed.

"Just swim down I suppose," Peggy said as she knelt next to the pool, catching her reflection in the surface of a puddle laying across the flagstones. The next moment, she stumbled back, squeaking, when Nancy sent a wall of water her way.

"I try," Nancy said pulling herself half out of the water, "I just bob up again."

"I can never stay under, either, if it makes you feel any better," Peggy said, wringing out the hem of her skirt. Nancy climbed out of the pool, then jumped off the springboard with a tremendous splash. Peggy went to look out of one of the windows.

"I say!" she called when Nancy came up for air, "There's the Eiffel Tower! I looked for it yesterday and never saw it."

She saw it now, narrow and iconic on the skyline, a dark silhouette against the blue sky.

"The Louvre should be somewhere over there-" Nancy stood dripping behind her, "And Notre Dame is beyond it."

"I can't see it," Peggy said.

"Of course you can't, it's covered up by those buildings." Nancy said, "That dome over there is supposed to be some sort of hospital – it's beyond the river."

"I want to see the Seine," Peggy said.

"Why?" Nancy asked, "You must be insane to want to see the Seine."

"What's wrong with it?" Peggy asked, looking around.

"Nothing," Nancy said, turning, "You can see all of Paris from up here. The Arc de Triomphe should be over there somewhere, and there's the Basilica of St. Clotilde."

"How on earth do you know all this?" Peggy asked.

"I read a tour book last night," Nancy said, grinning.

~o*o~

They ate a breakfast of croissants and coffee in the garden under the shade of a flowering tree. The Admiral was still trying to translate his newspaper and Peggy was hard at work on Nancy's tour book. The Great Aunt and Miss Huskisson weren't speaking to each other.

At last Miss Huskisson broke the silence, "We really _must_ go to Lanvin."

"Adelaide," Aunt Maria said with great patience, "I have said many times that I do not approve of Lanvin. The girls are under my guardianship and I will choose where they go."

"But Maria," Miss Huskisson said, "the styles are practically the same at both Worth's and Lanvin, but I do think that the things at Lanvin are better made. I had a dress from Worth that-"

"That is neither here nor there, Adelaide," Aunt Maria began.

"How would it be if I decided?" the Admiral interjected. "Will you both abide by my decision?"

"_I_ will," Miss Huskisson said.

"Alfred," Aunt Maria said, "I will not be bamboozled-"

"I'm not trying to bamboozle you; I'm only trying to end the argument fairly. You've been at it since we left London." The Admiral said. "Will you do what I suggest?"

"Oh... very well."

"Good," the Admiral said, "You take one of the girls to Worth's and Adelaide will take the other to Lanvin."

The Great Aunt's jaw sagged.

"Oh that's a lovely idea!" Miss Huskisson said clapping her hands together, "may I have Ruth?"

"Well," the Admiral said, standing up and folding his newspaper. "I'm glad that's decided. I'm going down the road to Dalloyau to buy a box of chocolates."

~o*o~

Nancy was footsore and weary by the end of that day. A whole new wardrobe had been picked out for her and Miss Huskisson insisted on paying for it herself.

"If you were my granddaughter I would," she said. "I always wanted a granddaughter and I like you. I think you are very much like I was when I was your age."

Nancy stared at her. She could not imagine Miss Huskisson, delicate and proper, as anything remotely like herself. Nancy geared herself up to dislike shopping, but it wasn't quite as bad as she thought it would be. She was older now and pretty clothes were not as revolting as they had been in her tomboy years. She was still rather put off by the perfume at Lancôme, but she wore it to make Miss Huskisson smile. Before leaving home, she had promised her mother that she would do her best to act like a lady. She had thought it a tall order at the time, but now as she moved through the expensive stores that lined the Rue du Faubourg and smelled the perfume, tasted the chocolates and ran her hands over the silk scarves, she automatically smiled and spoke softly and looked like a lady instead of the incognito pirate she really was.

"They are beautiful, aren't they?" Miss Huskisson said, lifting up a scarf at Hermes. "I'd buy you one, but I've used most of my money and I still have to buy you lunch. I'll have to get more from my brother."

"Don't even think of it," Nancy said. "You've been more than generous."

_There_, she thought, _that's what Peggy or Mother would have said_.

"You must have been very beautiful when you were young," Nancy said, then added hastily, "Not that you're not now – why did you never marry?"

Miss Huskisson laughed. "I never met anyone I suppose. My father was very ill the year I was supposed to debut, my mother had died and my older sister was already married, so I took care of him. He had cancer; he died when I was twenty-two. By that time, my brother had been widowed and I went to take care of him and that's what I have been doing ever since. I'm really perfectly happy the way it's turned out. Alfred is quite a traveller and I've seen many parts of the world with him, probably enough to write a book."

"Why don't you?" Nancy asked.

Miss Huskisson laughed.

They had lunch at one of the little cafeterias that seemed to have spilled out of its building into the street under umbrellas and surrounded by flowers. They ate shaded by a red umbrella and watching an old lady and Papillion. The waiter, as directed by the old lady, tied a napkin around the little dog's neck, then brought a pile of books outside so the dog could be on the same level as his mistress.

"Pierre likes beef au jus," the old lady said.

"Sir," the waiter said bowing.

Pierre smiled.

~o*o~

When they returned to the Hotel le Bristol Paris, the day was more than half over. The hotel was less than an eighth of a mile down the road and they decided to walk, a train of porters from the various stores parading behind them, laden with boxes and bags.

The Great Aunt surveyed Nancy's new costume of deep burgundy with disgust. She said nothing, but Nancy knew what she was thinking and half agreed with her. Miss Huskisson had liked the effect so much she couldn't leave it behind. Peggy on the other hand was stunning in white linen with a long pheasant's feather out of a stylish cap.

"Well," Admiral Huskisson said, stepping between the glaring Great Aunt and the smug Miss Huskisson, "Shall we go to the Eiffel tower before the day is through? Margaret expressed a great interest in going there. And I was thinking I might buy a camera."

~o*o~

"It was built in 1889," Admiral Huskisson said as the elevator slowly climbed towards the top of the tower. He was fiddling with the camera he'd bought on the way there, trying to put in a roll of film. "Zeiss Ikon," he explained, almost apologetically. "Probably made by slave labour, but they're the best out there."

Peggy clung to Nancy's hand as the latticework of the tower slipped past and the ground grew more and more distant.

"It served as the entrance arch of the 1889 world's fair. I was nineteen when I went to that, a young and cocky sub lieutenant." The Admiral continued.

"That was four years before father was born," Nancy said.

To Peggy, the base seemed to grow smaller and more inadequate as they rose higher. She looked up, then down again, and shivered.

"Don't be a galoot. We're not going to fall off," Nancy said squeezing her hand, "We'll see all of Paris from the top."

And when they stepped out of the elevator, they did see all of Paris. It stretched around them in all directions, the streets narrow and crisscrossing, the people almost microscopic. The wind whipped their hair and the horizon, shrouded with mist, almost curved.

_This_, Nancy thought, _is what it must be like to fly_.

The white curving wings of The Palais of Chaillot spread out on the other side of the Seine across from the tower. There were little ships down there, docked on the riverside, looking for all the world like a child's toys.

"There's the Louvre," the Admiral said, pointing towards the distance. They could just see it, the wings making a great square around an open courtyard.

"And there's Notre Dame," the Admiral said, "You can barely see the bell towers beyond the Louvre."

"Paris goes on forever, doesn't it?" Peggy said.

"It's not nearly as big as London," Nancy said.

"What's that building over there?" Peggy asked walking to the other side of the tower.

"Where?" Nancy turned, bumping into someone who had been standing behind her. "Oh I'm sorry, do forgive me."

"Quite all right," the girl said, smiling. She was some years younger than Nancy, probably still in school. Then the girl standing next to her turned around. Nancy gasped, they were identical!

"Giminy," she said. "You_ must_ be twins."

"Yes, this is Nell and I'm Bess," Bess said, then added, "Farland."

"Very pleased to meet you," Nancy said, "I'm Nancy Blackett and this is my sister Peggy."

Nell glanced at Bess (or was it Bess glancing at Nell?). They both shrugged.

"You wouldn't happen to know any people named Dick and Dorothea Callum, would you?" Bess asked (or was it Nell?)

"The D's?" Nancy said, "I'll say we know them! They used to come up to our lake in the summer!" she paused and stared at them, "You're not…the _Coots_ are you? From the Norfolk Broads?"

"Port and Starboard," Nell said, "Very pleased to meet you!"

"Captain Nancy Blackett, terror of the seas," Nancy said. "But Ruth in polite company. Don't call me Nancy here."

"I thought your name _was_ Nancy," Bess said.

"It's not, it's really Ruth, I was Ruth up to when I was eleven, but pirates are ruthless, so I decided to call myself Nancy." Nancy explained. "It gave mother no end of a headache, but the Great Aunt doesn't know."

"Ah, so that's what it's all about," the Admiral said. "I was wondering why Margaret kept slipping up and calling you Nancy."

Nancy grinned.

"Anyway," Nell said, "We've heard so much about you. I've always wanted to meet you from the way Dorothea talked about you – and the Death and Glories after their trip north. Why are you in France? We go to school here, but I didn't think you did."

"We don't," Nancy said, "We're en route to Alexandria, Egypt."

"Alexandria!" Bess' eyes widened. "_That_ will be exciting. The D's have been there. Dick told us all about the white ibis he saw in the Nile."

"He _would_," Nancy said grinning.

~o*o~

They agreed with Port and Starboard that the next day they would meet at the Louvre and spend the day there together.

"We'll have to spend at _least_ a day at the Louvre," the Admiral declared. "I once set aside three weeks to see it and still barely saw the whole thing."

The Louvre.

One of the world's largest museums, it rose in intricate golden grandeur above them. It had been a fortress, then a royal palace and now it held some of the finest art in the world. They walked the marble halls and wondered at the Chardins, the Fragonards, the Rembrandts. Their voices echoed softly as they stared up at the statues of ancient Greece and Assyria and the Winged Victory, headless but magnificent. They were silent as they looked into the eyes of Leonardo's Mona Lisa and contemplated the peculiarities of the background.

They walked down the thoroughfare to the Arc de Triomphe and stared up at its coffered ceiling wondering how it could have possibly been high enough or wide enough for a French aviator to fly his biplane through it.

~o*o~

The next morning, they got up early and took a bus to Versailles. It too was massive and beautiful. They walked the panelled halls; they saw the parquet floor, the gilt trim. They saw themselves reflected in a thousand different ways in the breathtaking Hall of Mirrors, where, nearly twenty years earlier, the dignitaries of the world had signed the peace.

They walked the grounds and explored the Petit Trianon, the little château that had been built for Louis XV's mistress, Madame de Pompadour, but later served as a retreat for Marie Antoinette in the days before the French Revolution. To think that Marie Antoinette had wandered these pathways and seen these views with her children a hundred and fifty years before was almost as stunning as finding a meteorite on an afternoon walk.

That evening, they saw Notre Dame; from the gargoyles to the rose garden and the great stained glass window in the nave. The flying buttresses crossed the sky and the Seine glittered in the afternoon light.

The day fled by too quickly.

* * *

**SimonC:** Thank you very much for your review! I'm really glad you like the detail, I've tried to make the story as true to the time as possible. If you should ever have any more comments or questions, please feel free to tell us.

**Guest1:** Glad you like the restaurants. I've always been deeply interested in food. :)

the English version of _Swallows and Amazons_ was dedicated to Mrs E.H.R. Walker and Mrs. Robert Blackett. The nickname 'Ted' was mentioned in both _We Didn't Mean to Go to Sea_ and and _Secret Water_. Ted can be a nickname for Theodore, Edward or Edwin. The inscription in _Swallows and Amazons_ narrows it down to Edward or Edwin and I ended up choosing Edward. 

I can imagine that becoming a great aunt would be daunting (I'm not even an aunt) but I'm quite certain that anyone who loves the _Swallows and Amazons_ couldn't be anything but first class!

As before, thanks very much for your review!


	4. The Orient Express

July 7, 1936. Morning Watch 0755

* * *

The Orient Express

* * *

_Switzerland is a small, steep country, much more up and down than sideways, and is all stuck over with large brown hotels built on the cuckoo clock style of architecture._

~ Ernest Hemingway

* * *

Port and Starboard saw them off at the magnificent Gare de Lyon with the towering clock tower and ate breakfast with them in the famous and very gilded, station restaurant, Le Train Bleu.

"It's a pity that you have to go so soon," Port said, "Just as we were getting to know each other."

"It is," Nancy said. "I really wish we'd known you before, we could have all had a lovely time."

"Well," said Starboard, "It was simply lovely meeting all of you, if you see the D's before we do, say hello."

"We will," Peggy said.

"And hopefully we'll see you again, soon," Nancy added.

Then they were stepping into the gleaming blue carriage and making their way to the ornate lounge car. Port and Starboard had followed them, and leaning against the windows, Nancy and Peggy could see them standing on the platform and waving.

Then came a shrill whistle from the engine, and the platform began to move. They were taking the Simplon-Orient-Express to Venice and from there would take a boat to Alexandria. The trip to Venice would take two days, winding through the mountains of Switzerland. They could have gone south to Marseille, but it was the Admiral who had made the travel plans, and he wanted to see Venice again.

"What is Marseille like?" Peggy had asked the Admiral.

"Very beautiful and well worth seeing," He had replied. "There are steep cliffs going into the sea, the smell of salt in the air and the cathedral has model ships hanging from the ceiling. It's every sailor's dream."

At first the country was very flat and the train roared through many towns, but soon it grew more hilly and the countryside was covered with a patchwork of wheat fields. For a few hours, they could almost imagine themselves back in England. Then the hills grew higher and they saw vineyards and mountains misty in the distance.

The train itself was a first class hotel on wheels. Brocade curtains hung from the windows, the walls were inlaid and the ceilings lined with intricate plaster mouldings. The furnishings were art deco and no expense was spared. They spent most of the day in the lounge car, especially as the train began to wind through the snow capped Alps. They saw high grassy slopes dotted with cows grazing among the wild flowers and beyond them the mountains, misty as shadows and filling the sky. In the evening, they made a stop in Lausanne, Switzerland, on the beautiful Lake Geneva, and wandered around for several hours in the proud old city before boarding the train again. Night came, and they rushed on through the darkness, hard asleep in the compartments.

"Like bunks in a ship," Peggy had said before she fell asleep in the bunk below Nancy's.

"Yes," Nancy said laughing, "Only no swell. Tomorrow, Milan and Venice!"

~o*o~

The train pulled into Milan Central Station. It was a magnificent building, bringing to mind all the glory and splendour of Rome, from the massive, stylized eagle over the front entrance, to the huge poster of Mussolini hanging inside on the wall.

As they left the station, they found themselves standing in a square. A taxi was flagged, and they began to wind their way through Milan as the Admiral chatted in Italian to the cab driver.

"Where are we going?" Nancy asked, as she watched the red roofed buildings of Milan glide past the windows.

"The Piazza of Duomo," Miss Huskisson said, "Or should I say La Piazza del Duomo? If we are going to see Milan in only a few hours, that's the best place to start."

The Piazza del Duomo was an enormous square in the very centre of the city; at the end was the tall and many pinnacled cathedral, Duomo di Milano. To the left were the wings and great archway of Galleria Vittorio Emanuele II, a four-story arcade, the Admiral explained, containing shops and restaurants and art galleries and called Milan's drawing room.

Far more massive than Notre Dame, Duomo di Milano towered above them and as they stepped through the door they were at once taken to a different time. They stared up the giant grey columns to the great vaulted ceiling, built more than five hundred years before. A boys' choir practiced in the front of the church and their voices soared like angels, reverberating off the noble gray stone. The exquisite stone carvings of the place stunned them and they realized just how much work and toil had gone into the building of it. As they went outside again and looked back, they could almost imagine that it was built of lace, not stone.

They went into the giant arcade, Galleria Vittorio Emanuele II, and marvelled at the glass dome and ceilings, casting light on the multitude of people below. They had a midmorning lunch under that glass ceiling at one of the little restaurants that filled the place and the Admiral snapped a picture of them at the table.

The G.A. ordered _La Cassoeula, _A stew of meat and vegetables, and Miss Huskisson decided to stick with _La Piccata Milanese, _fried slices of chicken with sauce_. _The Admiral tried to get Nancy and Peggy to order _La Buseca, _but Miss Huskisson warned against it and they both settled with _L'ossobuco, _or breaded veal fried with onions, garlic and celery in butter and olive oil.

The Admiral ordered _La Buseca _and Peggy stared at it when it came.

"What is it?" she asked suspiciously.

"Tripe," the Admiral replied with gusto.

~o*o~

They spent the rest of their time at the Castello Sforzesco, a great citadel built in the 14th century and The Pinacoteca Ambrosiana art gallery, where they saw works by Caravaggio, da Vinci and Titian and the initial sketch by Raphael of the _School of Athens_. With the very last of their time, they took a taxi to Santa Maria delle Grazie. It was a beautiful church, of red and tan, the dome towering above them. It was built in 1469 and in it was the famous mural by Leonardo da Vinci, _The_ _Last Supper_, deteriorating, but beautiful.

"He painted it on dry plaster instead of wet as an experiment," the Admiral explained as they gazed up at it, "It began to fall apart almost immediately."

But very soon, they were back on the train and heading east. The country was much flatter than it had been and they knew that somewhere in the distance was the Gulf of Venice and the Mediterranean.

Nancy and Peggy spent most of their time in the lounge car watching the tiny villages they passed, almost untouched by technology. There were tiled roofs and water wheels, fields of wild flowers, white washed walls and little barefoot children stopping to stare up at the gleaming blue carriages and golden crests of the train with awe.

It rained as the day grew later, but the sun came out again, on the water that glittered everywhere. It was evening when they saw the sea, gleaming in the distance. Then they were crossing a causeway, with water, gray-green, stretching always to both sides and ahead, under the misty sky, rose the red tiled roofs of Venice. There were heads bumped as Nancy and Peggy craned their necks to see it. Fishing boats lay quietly at anchor in the bay, dark silhouettes on the silent water. The train rushed on and they saw a sign beside the tracks, _Venizia_.

The station was long and low and out of place in its surroundings, but they had no eyes for it as they stood beside the canal and looked up at a green domed Santa Croce across the water and the arching bridge that led to it. The place was alive with colour since the rain and the sun turned every drop a rainbow hue. It was as if some great artist had spilled his pallet of watercolours in the canal and on the buildings across from them; it was as if the very buildings were made of the glass for which Venice was so famous.

A flock of orange toed pigeons took flight, washed in the same light that lit the water. High prowed gondolas lay beside the canal, waiting for passengers from the train. Striped mooring poles bobbed about like so many barber poles.

It was with great excitement that they stepped into a gondola. They were all well experienced with boats (except perhaps the G.A.) and they hardly rocked the gondola as they sat down. The gondolier smiled and poled away from the hard, singing mournfully to himself as he worked them out into the middle of the canal.

_It's almost like a taxi_, Peggy thought as she watched the glorious facades of the buildings slip by. There were no streets in Venice, only canals, twisting through the city like any alley in London. The water lapped green against the mouldering sides of the buildings, and there was barely a ripple as the boat slipped through it. Venice, that fairytale city, enchanted by years of history and architecture, was doomed.

_Peculiar to be in a doomed city_, Nancy thought, _someday, it will probably just slip into the sea that makes it beautiful_.

"Where's Saint Mark's square?" Peggy asked.

"You mean Piazza San Marco?" the Admiral asked, "If you're going to talk about it, you must call it the right name. It's over on the other side of the city."

Presently, the gondolier brought his vessel up by the side of the canal. Above them, rose a tall orange sided building with an awning in front and bushes in full flower. To the right on the other side of a narrow side canal was a tall marble church, intricately carved.

Nancy stepped ashore, Peggy behind her.

"I'm having a harder and harder time believing that it's really us on this trip," Peggy said.

"I'm not," Nancy said, smiling.

~o*o~

The hotel was a beautiful place. Perhaps I overuse the word beautiful, but it must be impressed on your mind the glory of Venice, the tall columns, the emerald water, the black hulled gondolas, the sky, now turning brilliant in the evening light. The hotel rose, golden walled out of the Grand Canal, widow boxes alive with red geraniums. They heard the soft strains of a violin and they walked down a hallway into a flower filled courtyard lit with the evening light that sparkled through a fountain cascading from an ancient gilded statue.

Dinner was served there in a hush under the violin. The light departed and their table was lit only by the golden light under the colonnade and the candles flickering at their places. They were served _fegato alla veneziana_ or Venetian liver. There was a tall bottle of _Prosecco, _and the Admiral gave them doses of it, glittering faintly like champagne, until it was gone.

At last, they were brought _Tiramisu_ for dessert, chocolate, mascarpone, and dark-coffee-dipped savoiardi. It melted in their mouths.

"I could live off that." Peggy said.

"You would get very plump," the G.A. said with a sniff.

"And sick," Peggy added.

* * *

Author's Note: Has anyone ever listened to _Fools Rush In_? You can find it on YouTube, preferably by Dean Martin or Doris Day.

Don't worry, as soon as they get to Egypt (would will happen in the chapter after this one) things will start picking up. ;) I promise.

~Psyche


	5. The City of Rainbows

July 10, 1936. Forenoon Watch 0801

* * *

The City of Rainbows

* * *

_There is a glorious City in the Sea._

_The Sea is in the broad, the narrow streets,_

_Ebbing and flowing; and the salt sea-weed_

_Clings to the marble of her palaces._

~Samuel Rogers

* * *

The next morning they arose early and Peggy went to the window to look out over the Grand Canal, to see a motor launch churn through the water and to watch the pigeon that had made a nest in their window box. They had only a day to see Venice in all her glory. Their ship, bound for Greece, would leave the next morning.

"What do you see?" Nancy asked from her bed.

"Venice!" Peggy cried.

~o*o~

They started their tour of the most beautiful city in the world at the church next door to their hotel, Sestiere Santa Croce. Less than three miles from end to end, Venice was situated on an agglomeration of islands afloat in the middle of a sea. The two largest islands seemed to fit together like puzzle pieces at the Grand Canal, which looped its way the full length of the city.

Saint Mark's square, or Piazza San Marco, was perhaps the most famous part of Venice. When they stepped off their gondola onto the paving stones of Saint Mark's square, they could imagine they were stepping into Canaletto's _Arrival of the French Ambassador_, with the Doge's Palace to the right, gilded by the sun and to the left, the red draped barges of the ambassador, slipping through the green water to the low steps that lead up to the square itself.

As they walked up the steps themselves, a flight of pigeons took to the air, their wings throbbing in the still air, putting the winged lions on the tall tower of St Mark's Campanile to shame with their agility. The Doge's Palace was reflected in a thousand ways in the puddles that lay like silver on the flagstones.

Then, as they turned the corner of the Doge's Palace, they saw the green coppered roofs and five great domes of Saint Mark's Basilica sharp against the misty sky. The four horses of Saint Mark pranced high above them on a terrace of the façade, glowing bronze, stained with green, their mighty muscles frozen in time.

"Take a good look at them," the Admiral said, "they were brought to Constantinople in the ninth century and they were old then. The Venetians went down in the thirteenth century and thought they would go charmingly up there. They've been there ever since, except when Napoleon swiped them to go on top of his Arc de Triomphe. They're supposed to be originally from fourth century Greece."

The basilica was magnificent. Above the horses was a winged lion on a background of blue with gold stars and above him were angels with gilded wings. Eagerly, they followed the Admiral through the main entrance into the nave. If the outside was beautiful, the inside was stunning.

The great domes were gilt and covered with intricate mosaics, the floor was tiled with geometric patterns. There were blues and reds and greens, but most of all there was gold, brilliant and gleaming. Admiral Huskisson made them line up beneath an ancient painting of the Virgin Mary and took a picture of them.

"It's too bad it isn't in colour," Nancy said, "Let me have it and I'll take a picture of you."

Their voices echoed grandly in the nave, the sound reverberating off priceless mosaics, gold leaf and intricate paintings.

"We're actually standing in Saint Mark's Basilica," Peggy said, staring up at the domed ceiling. "It's amazing."

~o*o~

There were two columns; one with Saint Theodore, and the other with _the_ Lion of Saint Mark, wings uplifted toward the sky and definitely the king of all the beasts in the square, except perhaps the horses. They stopped at a stand to buy a postcard. Peggy wrote in it there.

"How's this?" she asked, "Dear Mother, Father and Uncle Jim, we are standing in Saint Mark's square in Venice, the Admiral calls it Piazza San Marco…how do you spell 'Piazza'?...and we've just been in the basilica. Love from your daughters Peggy and…you sign here."

Nancy affixed her name and it was pocketed until a time came that they spotted a post office.

"Look at those people down there," Peggy said pointing towards the water, "They're all in sea boots."

"Very sensible I would say," Aunt Maria said, "My feet are already soaked through."

"How would you people like to go to a glass blowing factory?" the Admiral asked, "There's one just across the canal."

"_I'd_ love to," Peggy said, "Venetian glass is supposed to be lovely."

"You don't know how lovely," Miss Huskisson said.

~o*o~

For the next hour, they stood in the basement of a glass blower's and watched the birth of a rainbow hued vase. They saw the glass glow like liquid fire as the glass blower twirled it around and around and blew through the end of his blow pipe until his face had gone the same colour as the glass. Another glass blower dropped bits of coloured glass on the vase, cut them with a pair of sheers and crimped them to make them look almost like a frills of lace. At last, the vase was broken free of the blow pipe and set up to cool on a table.

"We'll buy it," the Miss Huskisson said looking at the Admiral said. "We've stood here so long watching it we can't possibly leave it behind. It's almost a relation now."

"If you like," the Admiral said. "I'll have them send it to our hotel."

The glassblowers made more than vases. There were beautiful Venetian beads made around silver foil or glittering with flecks of gold. There were little animals, swans and dolphins, little horses and a tiny dog. There were glasses and bottles with gilt stoppers and pitchers designed to gurgle as they were being poured.

"Those earrings," Miss Huskisson declared to Nancy, "would go stunningly with your new yellow sundress."

"They had nicer sundresses at Worth's." Aunt Maria said carelessly.

~o*o~

Venice was enchanted. The ancient buildings, the pigeons, the lonely fiddler who played on the hard, all seemed part of a different world, a world suspended in time, untouched by the turmoil that gathered like storm clouds over Europe.

"Did you know that the Olympics are in Germany this year?" Peggy asked as the Admiral helped her into a gondola, "I just saw a poster for it."

"I wouldn't go into Germany for anything," Miss Huskisson said, "Not with Herr Hitler in office. That man is evil."

"_Do_ you think there will be a war?" Peggy asked, watching the flash of water as the gondolier poled them down the canal.

"I don't," Miss Huskisson said. "Everyone is too dependent on everyone else's trade to risk it. It would be too horrible with all our modern technology."

"I don't want to depress you people," the Admiral said. "But I think there is going to be a war. Herr Hitler is just a little too greedy to avoid it and there's the Abyssinia Crisis, not to mention the Japanese in Manchuria and I think things are starting to come to a head in Spain. It's all these little wars all over the place; they're bound to connect into one big one."

The gondola slipped down the canal and Peggy looked around at all the peaceful buildings. She shivered. The sunlight suddenly seemed cold and bleak.

"Fish!" Nancy exclaimed, "A big one."

"Where?" Peggy asked.

"Down there, I just saw it."

~o*o~

They sailed the next morning.

The rising of the sun had left the sky faintly pink and it contrasted with the green of the water. The wake of their ship boiled behind them, curving gently away from the wharf. The red roofs of the houses glowed brightly and they saw the many domes of cathedrals and churches, white and sparkling.

"We'll be in the Mediterranean in a moment," Peggy said looking away from Venice toward the misty horizon.

"Properly, we'll be in the Adriatic." Nancy said.

"Then we'll be in the Mediterranean _after_ that," Peggy said.

Nancy looked thoughtful, "No, I think the Ionian Sea is next."

"I mean _after_ that," Peggy said.

"I hate to disappoint you, but the Libyan Sea after the Ionian."

"Then where is the Mediterranean?"

"I'm sure it's around somewhere." Nancy said vaguely and Peggy went away to see if Miss Huskisson was capable of more interesting conversation.

They were bound for Ithaca, a tiny island on the coast of Greece. The Admiral was particularly interested and after he had explained why, Nancy and Peggy couldn't wait to arrive. A few years before, they had been given three homing pigeons by their Uncle Jim and had named one Homer.

Homer, of course, was more than just a pigeon at home in Lancashire; he was an ancient Greek poet who was thought to have written the Iliad and the Odyssey, dramatizing the fall of Troy. The Odyssey dealt with the wanderings of Odysseus, who, it was said, took ten years to come home after the battle of Troy. After dealing with Cyclopes, mermaids and man eating horses, he had finally returned to Ithaca, the island where he had reigned twenty years before, and was only recognized by a loyal (but very ancient dog) who promptly died happy.

"What was the Trojan war about, anyway?" Nancy asked while they ate lunch on deck later that day. "I remember the horse, but why did they fight the war in the first place?"

"Well, it just so happens that I was refreshing my memory," Admiral Huskisson said with a laugh.

"Not just refreshing it," Miss Huskisson said, "He's rereading the whole Iliad."

"I'm sure Ruth and Margaret were required to read it in school," Aunt Maria said, pouring more dressing on her salad.

"Well, we were," Nancy said. "But I've forgotten the details..."

Aunt Maria had just opened her mouth to begin a lecture on the importance of remembering facts when Admiral Huskisson interrupted.

"The Trojan epic began when a chap named Paris ran into three goddesses arguing about whom was the most beautiful…"

"Donks," Nancy laughed.

"…They each promised him all sorts of things if he would only say she was the most beautiful. Paris, the younger son of Priam, the king of Troy was caught in indecision until the last goddess, Aphrodite, the goddess of love, promised him the most beautiful woman in the world to be his wife. That clinched the deal and Paris declared Aphrodite the most beautiful."

"Of course there's always a catch in those old stories," Peggy said. "Like Icarus flying too near the sun."

The Admiral nodded, "The catch here is that Helen, the most beautiful woman in the world, was already married. Aphrodite had a promise to keep, so she worked it out that Helen would run away with Paris to Troy."

"Galoot," Nancy declared.

"They all were, really," the Admiral replied. "Anyway, as you can imagine Menelaus, or her unfortunate husband, was rather upset about everything and he gathered together an army along with the help of the High King and sailed to Troy. According to Homer, the Trojan war lasted about ten years and finally ended when Odysseus cooked up a rather ingenious idea…"

"The horse!" Nancy exclaimed. "See, I remembered part of it."

"Exactly," the Admiral said. "They built a huge wooden horse, then got in their ships and sailed away. The Trojans were, of course, very happy to see the last of them and also happy with the great present they'd left behind. They dragged the horse into the middle of their city and hung flowers on it. They of course didn't know that there were Greeks hidden in the belly of the horse and when night came, they came out of the horse and opened the gates of the city for the other Greeks that had returned in their ships. There was great slaughter and I believe Menelaus intended to kill Helen, but, overcome by her beauty, he spared her."

"I can't imagine that she was quite so fetching after ten years," Nancy said.

"Well, you never know," Admiral Huskisson said. "She was probably very young when the whole thing started. She might have been only in her twenties when it ended."

"Women were married very young in those days," Miss Huskisson said. "I think the customs have changed for the better."

"Definitely," Nancy said.

~o*o~

They came into harbour at Vathy, the capital of Ithica. According to the Admiral, it was the largest natural harbour in the world, a haven for sailors.

"Odysseus was a sort of ultimate sailor," he said. "Sailing around the Mediterranean for ten years is no joke, what with the unpredictable weather patterns. Of course, there are theories that he accidently sailed across the South Atlantic and ended up in the West Indies."

The mountains on the island rose impossibly high around them as their ship docked. The little town seemed to be clinging to their sides, white walls and red roofs, adrift in the sea of trees, reflected perfectly in the great harbour. The clouds hung between the peaks over blue water and they saw brightly coloured fishing boats sailing out of the harbour mouth.

Their inn was high up the hill with a beautiful view of the brilliant blue harbour and the distant sparkling sea. The bright walls of houses clustered down the mountainside in a jumble, their many coloured shutters gleaming in the sun, surrounded by cypress and olive trees and lit with vibrant flowers.

"Well," the Admiral said, "Let's go down and see as much as we can. Our ship sails in the morning."

It was a strange place and a beautiful one. The bay spread out as if made of dark blue crystal and there were fishing boats everywhere. Octopus was out to dry on lines like washing and the Admiral ushered them into a small restaurant with miss-matched chairs and baskets hanging from the ceiling where they sampled the local cuisine.

The house over was the shop of a silver smith, where an old man with long fingernails was fashioning filigree jewellery. They watched each bit of wire as it was soldered to the last, making more and more intricate designs; spiral upon spiral and set with gems.

In the last hours of daylight, they took an ancient, rattling and rusting bus around cliff roads to Stavros, at the other end of the island, where Neolithic ruins lay mouldering under a mound of green turf. This was where the ancient city of Odysseus was thought to have been and as they stood there, watching the clouds paint the sky above the towering mountains and reflecting in the bay far below them, they could almost see the misty form of a trireme, slipping through the shadows, her sail set and bellying in the wind.

When they returned to Vathy that evening for supper, there were soldiers in the streets. At least, the Admiral told them they were soldiers.

"They look so funny!" Peggy said privately to Nancy. "They have pom-poms on their toes."

"They look like they're wearing ballerina tutus," Nancy replied.

"Don't laugh," the Admiral chuckled. "They're the most elite soldiers in the Greek army."

"Well, I'm sure they're very fierce," Peggy said.

"They'll need to be if Italy ever invades," The Admiral said.

* * *

**Author's Note:** I hope you enjoyed the visit to Venice. It's one place I'd love to go and explore sometime before it disappears forever from the earth. At one time, people could walk down its streets, now they can only sail. I suppose its a little like Holland, always sinking.

Sorry I missed updating, but as you all probably were, I was quite busy. I hope you had a marvelous Christmas, splendid Boxing Day and will have a delightful New Year.

In the next chapter, we will arrive in Alexandria and the story will _really_ begin.

~Psyche

**Guest1: **I'm very glad you liked the chapter. I've never had tripe either, but my parents like escargot fried in butter (don't ask me why, _I_ didn't try it). I'm really glad you like the story and am especially delighted that you are following it on Google maps. I've made it as geographically accurate as my knowledge permits. :) As always, thank you!


	6. The City of Cleopatra

July 12, 1936. Morning Watch 0730

* * *

The City of Cleopatra

* * *

_In each sail that skims the horizon, _

_ In each landward-blowing breeze, _

_I behold that stately galley, _

_ Hear those mournful melodies; _

_Till my soul is full of longing _

_ For the secret of the sea, _

_And the heart of the great ocean _

_ Sends a thrilling pulse through me._

~Henry Wordsworth Longfellow

* * *

They left fairly early the next morning, but not so early that they couldn't have a Greek breakfast of flaky, hot pastries filled with cheese while the sun splashed the white walls and the inn keeper's wife laughed and spanked the children with a long loaf of bread. In the time they had left, they went wading in the shallows where the starfish rippled under the clear water, wrapping their bright arms around unsuspecting clams. Miss Huskisson splashed water at Nancy and Peggy and they splashed back, the Great Aunt strangely passive where she sat in a wicker chair ashore.

"I wish we could go sailing," Nancy said at last.

"There will be plenty of time for that in Alexandria," the Admiral said. "I very much hate to end the party, but we must be aboard our ship in fifteen minutes."

As their ship at last weighed anchor, Nancy watched the roofs of Ithaca grow more distant. Their trip across the continent had been a whirlwind of colour and sound. By the end of today, they would be in Alexandria, their final destination. Quite suddenly, she felt regret that their trip would be over so soon. It had been wonderful, really. All her life, she had dreamt of adventure. Trotting through Europe might be a bit tame, but then her taste had mellowed over the years. She had let her imagination gallop away with her and the beautiful places of Europe were perfect places to imagine. There was Napoleon, Alexander, the Romans, the Greeks; all sorts of interesting people who did interesting things. Imaginings connected with them were too good to pass up. Over all, it _had_ been rather too much like a picnic, but what else could you expect?

There was a long foggy whistle high above her as the steamer drew away from Ithaca. The tug boats dropped their tethers and the steamer lumbered away on her own steam.

They would see Alexandria in the evening. She couldn't help being excited about that. They had been in Europe all this time, perfectly civilized, riding around in trains and taxis and running into people who spoke English at least moderately well, but Alexandria was different. It was Egypt. People bartered in bazaars and rode around in donkey carts. There were pyramids four thousand years old and ancient writing all in pictures. There were mummies the same age as the pyramids with their hair still on. The fleet was there, the British fleet. Sailboats were her thing, but a battleship had her at least mildly interested, especially the thought of a tour. They would meet Admiral Cunningham and Admiral Pound and other big brass. They would see the Nile, perhaps even shake hands with a crocodile or two…or was it alligators?

"Peggy, is it alligators or crocodiles in Egypt?" Nancy asked, looking around. Peggy was standing next to her after finding that Miss Huskisson was sleeping in a chair and understandably incapable of conversation.

"Aren't they the same thing?" Peggy asked.

"No, there's something different about them," Nancy said, "Something about their heads…or maybe their teeth."

"Or maybe both." Peggy said, "I know they have hippopotamuses…and Kangaroos-"

"Kangaroos! Peggy!" Nancy burst out laughing, "You tame galoot, that's Australia!"

Peggy shrugged, then grinned impishly, "I was wondering what you'd say."

~o*o~

The waves of the Mediterranean glittered brilliantly under the midday sun. To port, they saw the golden hills of Greece, to starboard, open water. That was where sea met sky in a boundless blue expanse, almost seeming to merge in the misty distance.

The wind blew and the waves were high as the steamer charged mightily through them.

"Storm brewing?" Nancy had asked the Admiral.

"No, just a bit nippy."

It was afternoon when they saw something glittering in the distance, more than just wind and wild waves. Admiral Huskisson had brought a pair of binoculars and after a long stare he had handed them to Nancy.

"What is it?" Nancy asked as she searched the horizon... then she saw it.

It was a battleship, white and shining, great guns pointed skyward. Astern of it steamed another and another in a long line, smoke streaming like clouds in the misty sky. Great battlewagons, cruisers, destroyers, oilers; the fleet.

"The Mediterranean fleet?" Nancy asked, handing the glasses to Peggy.

"It is indeed," the Admiral said, "The second in line is HMS _Hood, _Cunningham's Flagship. She's the biggest battleship in the world. She's almost as long as the _Titanic _was and almost as big. I believe HMS_ Queen Elizabeth_ is directly in front her; she's the flagship of the fleet. It looks like _Repulse_ behind _Hood_ and one of the _Nelsons_ behind _Repulse._"

With the naked eye, Nancy could only see tiny puffs of smoke hovering on the distant horizon, turned pink with the lowering sun. Brushstrokes of pink crossed the dimming blue sky and the sea itself was nearly as pink as the sky.

"Were they out on manoeuvres?" she asked.

"Probably out in the South Atlantic, target practice and all that. It's something else to see those guns go off. Each shells weighs about a ton."

"How far can they shoot?" Nancy asked.

"About eighteen miles."

"Giminy," Nancy said, "They could blow us out of the water right now if they wanted to."

Due to popular demand, the steamer moved a good deal faster than the warships and in a couple hours they could see the tiny hulls suspended above the water without the binoculars. They were only to be swallowed by the dusk an hour later and seen no more.

Nancy turned away; the white, slender hull of the _Hood_ etched on her mind.

~o*o~

As night fell, lights glimmering low on the horizon brought them all back to reality. For a while, Peggy had thought that they were the navigation lights of the Mediterranean fleet, but she realized that there were far too many of them for that.

"It's Alexandria," she said quietly.

~o*o~

Alexandria.

They saw a light gleaming from the Citadel that stood where the Lighthouse of Alexandria had once been; one of the seven wonders of the ancient world, a new Prometheus with light clenched in his fist. Cleopatra had climbed the lighthouse in her day, and if she were still alive, she would look down at her city in wonder. Only where the lighthouse had been, a narrow neck of land was left of the old city, the rest lay under the harbour. Alexandria had spread out large with the palaces of the king and the houses of the English government that resided there. Even their own ship, as the tugs captured it and hauled it to its moorings, would have stunned the ancient queen.

Nancy and Peggy were stunned enough without thinking of Cleopatra. They were in Egypt, finally, at last! Through it didn't seem much different than any other city they had seen. They heard the same rushing city noise, saw the same bright lights gleaming through the darkness. They heard the crashing of the surf on all sides and saw the gleaming eyes of the donkey that pulled the carriage that would take them to their hotel.

They listened, mesmerized, to the Admiral as he spoke in Arabic to their driver, accented by the swift notes of the donkey's hooves. There were two harbours in Alexandria, and as they crossed the neck of land that separated them, they saw the riding lights of the Mediterranean fleet, just arrived and laying at anchor in the distance.

"As soon as I see Cunningham, I'll try to get you aboard one of them," Admiral Huskisson said, looking out to sea, "Maybe even _Hood_."

"I am glad we are finally here," the Great Aunt said, voicing what they all felt.

"We'll see the pyramids and the sphinx-" Miss Huskisson said contentedly.

"And Cunningham," the Admiral reminded them all.

~o*o~

Nancy woke with a thrill of excitement. She never liked to get overly excited – or at least, she never liked to show it – but she felt she had a good reason today. She lunged out of bed to the window and looked out. Before her, she saw the sweeping shoreline of the eastern side of the harbour, edged by a long spit of land surmounted by the gleaming white walls of the Citadel of Qaitbay, the place where the Lighthouse of Alexandria had once stood.

Many coloured fishing boats bobbed on the quiet waters of the harbour and the surf crashed against the seawall in mountains of white foam. The Hotel Cecil stood on the very edge of the city overlooking the harbour. Nancy could see the road below her, lined by old lamps and palm trees and teeming with pedestrians in flowing robes, donkey carts and every now and then, a motor car or two.

Nancy paused, listening. Faintly, through the wall, she heard the singing of a violin, its voice rising and falling with great beauty.

"Nancy?"

Nancy looked back to see Peggy staring at her blurrily from her bed.

"Get up! You don't want to miss anything, do you?" Nancy dropped down next to her trunk and rummaged through it until she found something to wear. She balled up Peggy's clothes and threw them at her.

"Oomph!" Peggy exclaimed eloquently.

"Very well said," Nancy replied. "Hurry up! We'll be late!"

"Late for what?"

"We'll have to find out, won't we?"

~o*o~

Both the doors to Miss Huskisson's room and the Great Aunt's room were closed shut and nothing was to be heard from them by careful ears. The Admiral's room, on the other hand, was wide open and quite empty.

"We'll go down and have breakfast, maybe we'll find him," Nancy said, opening the door to their suite.

They found themselves in a large airy hallway with white walls and red oriental carpeting underfoot. Nancy looked down one way, then the other. She wasn't exactly sure which way to go, but then a gentleman in a white linen suit came whistling down the hall. Nancy saw that he wasn't much older than she was.

"Looking for something?" He asked with a pronounced American accent as he unlocked the door to the room next to their suite. He hummed a bar a music as he looked at them expectantly.

"The lift," Nancy said.

"Right that way," he said pointing, then paused. "I should introduce myself, I'm Lester White."

"Ruth Blackett," Nancy said shaking his hand.

"I'm Peggy," Peggy added.

"Peggy? That would be short for Margaret?" Lester asked, shaking hers.

"It is," Peggy said, smiling.

"You weren't playing the violin this morning, were you?" Nancy asked suddenly.

"That was me, sorry, did I wake you up? Most unfriendly of me," Lester said smiling. "I used to play in the Boston Pops. I'm addicted to my violin."

"You play very well," Nancy said smiling, then glanced down the hallway. "We've got to run. It was nice meeting you."

"Au revoir," He replied, saluting them.

They continued on down the hallway to see the lacy wrought iron doors to a lift and the red jacketed Egyptian who let them in. A moment later, they watched the floors glide past, then a lift man at the bottom was letting them out. They came out at the foot of the stairway, into a white columned entrance hall.

"May I help you?" a heavily accented voice behind them made them both turn around. A porter stood smiling at them, wearing the red coated livery of the hotel.

"We're looking for Admiral Huskisson," Nancy said.

"The gentleman is in the dining room, will you come this way?"

"Yes of course," Nancy said.

He led them down the hall, into the high ceilinged dining room. There was a low murmur of voices and a red, silent carpet underfoot. The porter led them through the tables until they came to one where two men were deep in conversation, one was Admiral Huskisson, the other was a man in impressive naval uniform and Nancy knew, by the number of golden bars on his sleeves, that he was a vice-admiral. Another man, a lieutenant-commander, leaned back in his chair, watching them.

"Ah, Cunningham!" Admiral Huskisson said, looking up to them, "Let me introduce you to the Blackett girls; Ruth and Margaret."

"Delighted to meet you," Admiral Cunningham said, rising and shaking their hands. "Do sit down."

Admiral Andrew Cunningham, C.B. was not a tall man, but he had great presence. His hair had gone grey and his ears rather stuck out, but he wasn't the sort of man anyone could possibly make fun of. He had an impressive block of ribbons on his uniform, and his heavily gold accented cap lay on the table among the breakfast dishes. The lieutenant-commander, Lieutenant-Commander Clavell, they learned, was the Admiral's flag lieutenant and normally went with him everywhere.

Admiral Huskisson ordered them breakfast and while they waited for it, they listened to the two Admirals talk of old times; the war, the peace, the different ships in the Navy, the collision that had occurred last year between _Renown _and _Hood. _

"I heard," Nancy suddenly found Admiral Cunningham speaking to her, "That you and your sister wanted to see a battleship?"

"Very much," Nancy replied.

"How about later this morning…ten o'clock or so? You could stay for lunch. Would that be convenient?"

"We'd love to!" Nancy said.

"Thank you very much," Peggy added.

Just then, breakfast arrived. Grilled tomatoes, bacon, eggs, tea, toast…

"An _English_ breakfast?" Nancy exclaimed, staring down at it. "We're in Egypt!"

Admiral Huskisson laughed.

"This will be my first English breakfast since leaving London." Nancy said, "Home, sweet home."

* * *

**Author's Note:** I beg your pardon, I keep forgetting that I'm posting this... sorry if its a little late. As always, your feedback is invaluable.

**Guest1**: I'm so glad you enjoyed the glass blowing. Sometimes we go to the glassworks an hour away and watch as they make wine glasses and pitchers and other nice things. It's such an amazing process. As always, thanks for your review.

**Looneyboyo:** thank you so much for reviewing. Yes, I'm afraid it does read a bit like a travelogue, but I'm glad you are enjoying it anyway. After this chapter things should pick up... substantially.

**Next Up:** A day aboard HMS Hood.


	7. Her Majesty, The Hood

July 13, 1936. Forenoon Watch 0945

* * *

Her Majesty, The _Hood_

* * *

_...They wrapt the ship in splendour wild,_

_They caught the flag on high,_

_And streamed above the gallant child,_

_Like banners in the sky._

_There came a burst of thunder sound;_

_The boy, - Oh! where was he?_

_Ask of the winds, that far around_

_With fragments strewed the sea,-_

_With shroud and mast and pennon fair,_

_That well had home their part,-_

_But the noblest thing that perished there_

_Was that young, faithful heart._

~Casabianca

* * *

It was a quarter to ten when Admiral Cunningham came for them. They all piled into the horse drawn carriage that he had come in; Nancy, Peggy, Miss Huskisson, Aunt Maria, the Admirals and the Lieutenant-Commander.

The horse trotted with a spring in his step and they all faced into the cool, salty wind blowing off the sea. It was cooler in Alexandria because of the sea, but it was still hot with the sun beating down on them. They crossed the neck of land that separated them from the southern harbour and a few minutes later, they were getting out of the carriage and clambering into Admiral Cunningham's private launch.

The Mediterranean fleet swung at its moorings. Destroyers moored in rows, submarines, cruisers, battle cruisers, and the _Hood_ herself, lay elegant in the water. The launch churned quietly across the harbour and the smooth, gray sides of the _Hood_ towered above them. The sailors on the launch threw coiled ropes up to the sailors looking down at them from the steep sides of the _Hood _and a moment later, the Admirals were climbing a ladder to the deck.

"It's gotten more difficult over the years," they heard Admiral Huskisson saying.

The bos'n's whistle trilled when Cunningham came on deck, then the G.A. and Miss Huskisson were scaling the ladder.

"Your turn," Lieutenant-Commander Clavell said with a smile, turning to Nancy and Peggy.

"I'll go," Peggy said and Nancy watched her up, and on deck.

Then Nancy found herself climbing up. The massive superstructure towered above her; she saw the distant windows on the bridge, the two huge funnels, the assortment of ships' boats suspended between them, and slanting across the sky, the huge, twin fifteen inch gun turrets with barrels large enough for a man to crawl in.

"Welcome aboard," Admiral Cunningham said, giving her his hand as she stepped on the teakwood deck.

~o*o~

They wandered the decks while the two Admirals belted them with explanations. They saw the long foredeck, so high from the water, yet were told that it was often completely awash when the seas were high.

"On days like that," Admiral Cunningham said with a laugh, "We call her the largest submarine in the fleet."

The anchor chains stretched in double rows from the massive capstans, each link so huge they came up almost to Nancy's knees. There was a floatplane sitting atop one of the turrets and they saw the _Hood_'s crest, a raven with an anchor seized in its talons, on the tampions in the muzzles of the guns. _Ventis Secundis _was written on a scroll beneath the raven.

"With favourable winds," Nancy said quietly.

"Stand there in front of the guns, ladies," Admiral Huskisson said. "I must have a photograph."

They stood there and smiled, squinting into the sun. A group of lieutenants watched from a respectful distance, grinning at them. A long string of photographs followed and a short pause when Lieutenant-Commander Clavell reminded Admiral Huskisson that he had to wind the film between shots.

"Oh dear," the Admiral said, "We'll have some interesting photographs."

After that, they went below, down metal stairs and through watertight doors. They saw flowers in a vase on the wardroom table and gold framed mirrors on the walls of the officers' mess. The ship was beautifully furnished, especially in Cunningham's private chambers. It seemed, as they stepped in the Admiral's sitting room, that they were not in a ship at all, but in a finely furnished house. There was a stove set in a fireplace, curtains in the windows, a desk, potted plants, a rug on the floor, pictures on the walls; yet there was a railing around the stove, an air intake shaft on the ceiling and the peculiar shape of _Hood's_ bulkheads.

They left the admiral's cabin and further forward, they entered one of the massive fifteen inch gun turrets. The turrets themselves were more than five stories high, starting deep in the bowels of the ship. They saw rows and rows of fifteen inch shells, standing like regiments of brightly painted soldiers, weighing nearly a ton each and ready to be hoisted up the structure of the turret to the breeches of the guns. A sailor opened the breechblock for them, so they could see the massive, rifled barrel of one of the guns.

"How long are the guns?" Nancy asked. "I mean, from here to the muzzles?"

"About fifty-four feet," Admiral Cunningham said.

"How are they aimed?"

"From fire control directors," the Admiral said. "There are two; the primary director is above the conning tower."

"Can we see them?" Nancy asked.

"Of course."

They came out of the turret and seemed to go down an endless corridor lined with watertight doors. They went up a set of stairs, then down another corridor and Admiral Cunningham stopped when a naval officer with four stripes on his cuffs met them.

"Alfred," Cunningham said, "I'd like you to meet Captain Arthur Pridham, the commander of _Hood_. Arthur, this is Admiral Alfred Huskisson, my former commanding officer."

"Delighted to meet you, sir," Captain Pridham said, shaking Admiral Huskisson's hand.

"And you," Admiral Huskisson said. "You were in command of HMS _Excellent_ for a short while?"

"Yes, in 1933, and you sir commanded _HMS…"_

Nancy didn't hear the rest. They would probably stand there talking for fifteen minutes or more before they remembered where they were. She looked around a corner, then wandered down the corridor a bit before she saw an open door. Looking in, she saw something that looked like a radio room, there was one sub-lieutenant, but he didn't see her before she turned away and went back down the corridor to find the others.

When she turned the corner, there was nothing but grey corridor and water tight doors in sight, the others were gone. Nancy swallowed. There were miles of corridors in the _Hood_ and worst of all, they all looked the same. She began walking the way she had come, the bare light bulbs flickering above her and the rounded watertight doors sealed shut for yards. There were switchboards, power cables, ventilation shafts and plumbing pipes twisting over the walls, and a grey metal floor underfoot.

Finally, she heard the sound of voices, and laughter. One of the watertight doors ahead was open and a moment later, she stepped inside, taking care not to catch her heel on the ledge. She found herself in one of the enlisted mens' mess halls; where about fifty sailors were just tucking into lunch. She stood there for a moment, uncertainly, and quite suddenly there was complete silence as fifty pairs of eyes suddenly pinned her to the wall and fifty jaws dropped in surprise. She looked at them haughtily, like a cornered fox before the hunters and knew that they were probably just as scared of her as she was of them. They weren't used to seeing a young lady in pale green linen aboard their ship. At last, one of the sailors stood up and stepped over the bench where he had been sitting.

He was half way across the floor when the loud speaker suddenly switched on.

"Now hear this! Now here this! Anyone who knows the whereabouts of Miss Ruth Blackett, report to the bridge immediately. I repeat, anyone who knows the whereabouts of Miss Ruth Blackett, report to the bridge immediately."

There was silence for a moment.

"Miss Blackett," the sailor said hesitantly. "I'm Leading Seaman Horlock. Would you mind accompanying me to the bridge?"

"No need, sailor, we'll take her."

They both looked around to see two lieutenants standing just inside the door. Leading Seaman Horlock saluted and went back to sit down, but he, like the rest of the room all looked around to see the excitement.

"Miss Blackett," the lieutenant who had spoken said. "I'm Lieutenant Angus Ross. If you don't mind, we'll take you to the bridge."

"Yes of course, thank you," she glanced at the other lieutenant, then stared in surprise.

"John!" she gasped.

"Hullo," he said hesitantly, then started. "Nancy?"

Nancy rolled her eyes.

"Nancy-" John stared at her incredulously. "What _are_ you doing down here?"

"I-" Nancy began.

"You two know each other?" Lieutenant Ross asked.

Nancy rolled her eyes. "No, never seen him in my life. I just guessed, John is one of the most common names in the English language after all."

"Look, Nancy…" John said, "Are you with anybody?…I mean, did you climb aboard in the night or something?"

"What do you take me for? A pirate? No, I'm the guest of Admiral…what's his name? Cunningham. They disappeared and I've been looking for them."

John had a sudden image of Nancy scaling the side of the ship, a nicked cutlass in her teeth. He laughed. "Well, according to Lieutenant-Commander Clavell, we're to deliver you to the bridge."

"Lieutenant-Commander Clavell?"

"He was the one on the loudspeaker," Lieutenant Ross said. He turned to John, "This isn't the Nancy Blackett you were telling me about?"

"What have you been saying?" Nancy asked.

"Nothing," he grinned, looking at her.

"Shut up," Nancy said.

"I didn't say anything."

"You were thinking."

~o*o~

"Aunt Maria has a friend, Miss Huskisson, and Miss Huskisson has a brother, retired Admiral Alfred Huskisson." Nancy explained as the two Lieutenants escorted her down the corridor. "Aunt Maria thought it would be educational."

"Peggy here too?"

"Yes – by the way, I'm not Nancy. You've got to call me Ruth in front of the G.A.. The G.A. doesn't really even know Nancy exists."

"If I remember correctly, she never had a very high opinion of the Walkers," John said. "Maybe I should just lay low."

"No need," Nancy said, "We'll just ignore the raving beast. You'll just have to expect her to be gorgonish. Don't look directly at her and you'll be all right."

"I say, is she really like that?" Lieutenant Ross asked, intrigued.

Nancy grinned.

"Does she still remember the owl at midday?" Lieutenant Walker asked as they ascended a set of metal stairs, turned a corner, then found themselves going up another set.

"Doesn't she?"

They were in a corridor when an enormous orange cat brushed past them, purring loud enough to make Nancy think that the engines had been powered higher and _Hood_ was going for a sail.

"That's Fishsticks," John said, bending down to rub the cat's ears. "Ship's cat."

"When did you two meet?" Lieutenant Ross asked as they continued on again.

"1929? 1930?" Nancy asked looking at John.

"August 1929," John said, "It was the summer after I joined the naval academy. Where are you staying?"

"The Hotel Cecil," Nancy said. "It's pink, like cake icing."

John opened a metal door and stood aside to let Nancy through.

"Sudden gallantry," she said. "I don't think I like it."

"Don't barbeque me."

Nancy found herself on the covered bridge. It was very large; rows of huge windows covered three sides, giving a spectacular view of the massive bows and turrets of the _Hood, _the ship filled harbour and the city of Alexandria itself. Brass work glittered in the sunlight that streamed through the windows, lighting the white uniforms of the seamen as they stood around looking dignified.

Both lieutenants suddenly became different men as they snapped to attention before Admiral Cunningham and Captain Pridham.

"Sir," John said, "Reporting to the bridge sir. We found Miss Blackett."

"So I see," Cunningham said. "At ease."

"Where ever did you go, Ruth?" the Great Aunt asked. "I thought you knew when you were a child that you ought never to run off like that. I do not know what your mother was thinking."

"This has nothing to do with mother," Nancy said. "Anyway, you're the ones who ran off; if you'd only stayed where I'd left you we would never have been separated."

"Well," Cunningham said, "shall we go below and have lunch?" he glanced at the lieutenants and nodded, "You can go."

"Wait," Nancy said, "can't they stay? Or Lieutenant Walker at least? He's an old friend and we haven't seen him for three years."

"You're John?" Peggy exclaimed.

"Hello Peggy."

"This isn't your friend you were telling me about?" Admiral Huskisson asked. "William's grandson?"

"Admiral Huskisson," Nancy said, "Meet...are you a first or second lieutenant?"

"He's just a lieutenant," Lieutenant Ross said. "First and seconds aren't really used anymore."

"Meet Lieutenant John Walker."

"Delighted to meet you," Admiral Huskisson said, shaking John's hand. "I served with your grandfather in the Great War."

"Delighted to meet _you_, sir."

"You're father is Captain Edward Walker? He's in command of the Second Destroyer Flotilla in Malta at the moment, am I right?"

"Yes sir," John said, "He's on the HMS _Hardy_."

"Meet my sister, Adelaide Huskisson," Admiral Huskisson said.

"Very pleased to meet you," John said dutifully.

"Well, I'mvery pleased to meet you, too, Lieutenant Walker," Miss Huskisson said, shaking his hand. "Your grandfather is a lovely man."

"Thank you ma'am."

"Do meet my good friend Maria Turner," Miss Huskisson said turning to the Great Aunt. There was a moment of strained silence over by the wheel where Nancy and Peggy stood, but John's smile never changed as he shook the Great Aunt's hand.

"Pleased to meet you too, young man," the Great Aunt said. There was a moment when it seemed that she was trying to remember something, but then her smile returned. She, too, had met Admiral Walker and she asked after him.

Admiral Cunningham ushered them out of the pilot house and they proceeded below to lunch in the Admiral's dining room. The lieutenants dispersed and Nancy did not think it prudent to ask them to stay.

"A very polite young man," Aunt Maria said, falling behind with Nancy. "A most polite young man."

* * *

**Author's**** Note:** Fergus Mason pointed out that the _Hood_ wasn't in the Mediterranean at this time, she had already left for a refit. It also ought to be noted that Admiral Cunningham wasn't second in command of the fleet until later in the year. I've tweaked history a bit (which is never a good idea) and hope you enjoy it all the same.

~Psyche

**Guest1**: Starfish are really neat, aren't they? When I learned about them in biology class I was completely grossed out. But they're kind of cute, all the same. :) Glad you are still enjoying the story and thanks for your review!


	8. Exploration

July 14, 1936. Morning Watch 0522

* * *

Exploration

* * *

_ The best way to know Alexandria is to wander aimlessly_

~ E. M. Forster

* * *

Nancy woke suddenly and violently to pounding on her door. They had spent yesterday aboard the _Hood_. She was like a small city afloat in the harbour, with chapel and medical ward, cobblers and tailors, mess halls and sports teams. Time flew by and it was late afternoon when they were ferried back to land and accompanied to the Hotel Cecil by Admiral Cunningham. Supper was eaten, and of course the Admirals had to have an after dinner pipe and Miss Huskisson and the G.A. talked and talked and talked... she and Peggy at least had been able to get a postcard of _Hood_ from the gift shop aboard and send it off to England with love.

..._been having a lovely time and met John Walker to-day while we were aboard HMS _Hood...

Drowsily, she stared up at the window and saw that the light that slanted through the curtains was still pale. The knock came at the door again.

"What is it?" Nancy hollered. She heard a moan from Peggy's bed.

"Your young man is here!" she recognized the voice of Admiral Huskisson.

"What young man?" Nancy called crossly. What was he talking about? _She_ didn't have a young man. She groped for her watch on the bed stand and tilted it to catch the dim light.

"It's not even five-thirty!" she cried.

"Hurry up, they're waiting for you!"

"We're coming!" Nancy cried. She rolled out of bed, dragging herself across the room to throw back the curtains. The north harbour curved like a silver bowl, lit by the pearly light in the sky. The sun hadn't quite risen yet and the Qaitbay Citadel on the point was in shadow. The myriad of multi-coloured fishing boats seemed to hover just above the water, lit by otherworldly light.

"I guess we should get dressed," Nancy said, rooting through the drawers in the bureau.

"What's happening?" Peggy asked, but was silenced when her balled up clothes hit her in the face. "I wish you'd stop doing that."

Peggy clawed out of her blankets and sat blinking at the end of her bed as a shaft of golden light from the bathroom sliced across the patterned carpet. Nancy was vigorously brushing her teeth, Peggy speculated whether they could hear her downstairs.

"What's happening?" Peggy asked.

"I don't know," Nancy flopped down on her bed and put on her shoes...drat those shoes...they looked ridiculous. "I'm guessing John's come."

Painfully, painfully, Peggy pulled on her clothes and followed Nancy out of their bedroom. The sitting room was deserted and from the silence they knew that Miss Huskisson and the Aunt Maria were still hard asleep.

They found John in the bar. There were four at the table, all laughing. Three of them, John, Lieutenant Ross and Admiral Huskisson were imbibing the last dregs of their coffee, and the last; a long gawky fellow, who looked as if he didn't really belong, was deep in a mug of hot chocolate.

Nancy stared for a full second before he finally clicked in her mind, "Roger!" she cried, "What are you doing here? Are the others here too?"

"No," Roger said, standing up to shake her hand and realizing with a shock that he was looking down at her, "Just me, I'm afraid. How are you? I was really surprised to hear you were in Alexandria. Everyone else is in Malta...not Susan, she's still in England. We all came down for summer holls and I have this friend- loves engines- we bought an airplane."

"An _airplane?" _Peggy squeaked.

"It was a trainer from the Great War. They had them all boxed up in crates and we bought one at an auction. We've been flying around ever since."

"Are we ready to go?" John asked, standing up.

"Where are we going?" Nancy asked.

"To see the city of course," Lieutenant Ross said. "John said you'd want to. You _do _want to see it?"

"Rath_er,_" Nancy said. "Shall we have breakfast?"

"No," John said.

"We thought you'd like to have an Egyptian breakfast," Roger added. "John thought you wouldn't have had breakfast yet."

"We weren't even _up_ yet," Peggy said, laughing.

"_Shall_ we go?" John asked making strides for the door, the others followed.

"Hang it!" Roger said suddenly.

"What?"

"It's Gibber, he's gone."

"You have Gibber here?" Nancy asked sharply. "Is he even allowed in?"

There was a shout and they looked up over the dark varnished bar, past the glittering glasses and bottles of sherry and port to see Gibber's tail disappearing around the corner. Roger was after him in a moment and people glanced up, wondering as Roger tried to coax him down from the chandelier. John was taller and Gibber eyed him suspiciously for a moment, then scampered down his arm.

John handed him over.

"Keep a hold on him this time."

~o*o~

The edge of the sky was turning golden over the silent water of the harbour. Faint purple clouds, their undersides touched with coral, hovered in the marbled sky. The dim orbs of the street lamps burned in the air above them as they walked down the road, looking up at the windswept palm trees intermixed with trees topped with blood red blooms.

"I asked your Admiral if he wanted to come along," John said.

"He would be visiting Admiral Cunningham." Nancy said.

"He's going to see Admiral Pound today," John said.

"The chief Admiral?" Nancy asked.

"Commander-in-chief, Mediterranean Fleet."

Nancy shrugged and looked out at the harbour, soaking in the scene. Cool wind was sweeping off the water, ruffling everything in its path. The citadel shone like a white pearl, breakers surging against the rocks below it. A fishing vessel was just lowering her sail and was moving quietly between the myriad of hulls that swung gently at their moorings, reflecting bright colours in the rippling water.

"I thought... at least... I told your Admiral that we'd be back," John said at last, hesitantly.

"Back to the hotel?" Nancy asked. "What do you mean?"

"I thought we should bring your Aunt along," John said. "It wouldn't really be right not to."

"I say, why not?" Nancy exclaimed, glancing at him reproachfully. "I thought we'd get away from her for a little while!"

"Well, what do you think she'd say if you went dashing off with us to see a strange city?" John asked, "I'm not exactly tops in her list of people."

"I don't think anyone is," Nancy said grimly. "Oh, all right, have it your way. I suppose you have a point."

"It's all so modern," Peggy exclaimed as they turned onto street and found themselves walking down a boulevard lined on both sides with tall buildings, very Victorian in ways, yet with their own Egyptian flare. They passed storefronts, were honked at by an auto car as they crossed the street and stopped while a photographer snapped a shot of the harbour down the road.

"Where are we going exactly?" Nancy asked, and John answered her question by opening a glass door of one of the coffee houses on the street and ushering her in.

"Women aren't allowed in most of the coffee houses," John said quietly. "These people don't seem to mind...much. You might get some odd looks, but don't worry about it."

"As long as you're with us," Lieutenant Ross said comfortingly, Nancy hardly heard him. There was a smell of coffee and tobacco and a mix of strange perfumes. The walls were panelled with dark carved wood and the floor was covered with blue tiles that seemed to be depicting stylized flowers. From behind ornate folding wooden screens, men looked up from their waterpipes, to watch them as a waiter with a red fez brought them to a little table, inlaid with white and black chips of marble.

As they sat down, the men at the end of the room ignored them and set to gurgling on their pipes. Shishas, John explained, all the cafes had them.

"What's all the perfume?" Nancy asked.

"It's in the tobacco," John said, "sometimes they put opium in it too, or at least they used to. They mix the tobacco with honey before they smoke it. It's interesting."

"You've _tried_ it?" Peggy asked.

John grinned.

"With _opium_?" Peggy squeaked.

"No, no."

The waiter stood by them, bowing and smiling as John conveyed what they wanted in an awkward mix of Arabic and English. Presently, he returned balancing a platter with a porcelain coffee pot and five, tall silver-bound glasses.

The coffee was sweet and creamy, with a hint of cinnamon, not at all like the coffee Nancy was used to. The coffee was followed by bread and fruit and Nancy relished it, losing herself out the window as she watched the feathery fronds of a palm shudder in the breeze. An Egyptian with a red fez walked past and a donkey shuffled after him, half walking, half trotting, his ears flapping in rhythm. The cart that followed was loaded down with melons that looked like they outweighed both the Egyptian and the donkey combined.

"How do you like Egypt?" Nancy glanced up to see John looking at her. "So far?"

"It's marvellous," Nancy said.

"What were you hoping to see?"

"Everything," Nancy laughed. "The white castle out in the harbour... and I want to see a Bazaar."

"We'll see the Citadel," John said. "But I won't promise a Souq."

"Souq?"

"Bazaar. Same thing."

He picked up his glass and turned it in the light, watching the glimmer of tarnished silver bands that bound it. He looked older, much older than she remembered; there was a seriousness and confidence in his gray eyes that she hadn't seen before. Once, she had called him 'commodore' in jest, now he looked the part. Nancy realized with a sickening lurch that she didn't know him anymore. She longed to know what he was thinking... what he was thinking of her. Once, a long time ago, she could read his face and tell what he was thinking, but now she couldn't be sure. He had changed.

"What do you do aboard the _Hood_?" Nancy asked suddenly.

John opened his mouth to speak, but Lieutenant Ross was faster. "I'm an assistant gunnery officer. I'm on the secondary fire control station and I'd take over if the Gunnery Officer were ever taken out by a shell."

"And you?" Nancy asked, looking at John.

"Nothing so exciting." John said with a grin.

"He's the Fire Control Officer," Angus cut in again. "He aims the guns."

"Not really." John said hesitantly. "I don't do much."

"Well, an awful lot get's done," Angus said.

"How do you do it?"

John looked at a loss for words; a swarm of intricate calculations and split second decisions went through his head. How to explain?

"It has to do with differential equations." He began.

"You've already lost me," Nancy said with a laugh.

John said: "Well, the captain tells us the target and how to open fire. The initial calculations are made..."

"He makes them," Lieutenant Ross cut in. "This chap is too humble."

John ignored him. "...And sightings are taken by the range finder group. That information is shipped down to the fire control room where it is analyzed. The resulting calculations are sent to the batteries. In that way, all the guns can be aimed together and more accurately than they can be separately. I'll tell you sometime, better." He added, almost apologetically.

"He's a math whiz, really," Angus said with a laugh. Roger rolled his eyes.

"Sounds fascinating," Nancy said.

"You really think so?" John asked, his eyes lighting.

"Of course!" Nancy said.

"You're not aiming the guns all the time, are you?" Peggy asked. "What do you do the rest of the time?"

"I assist in Navigation." John said. "You know, Admiral Cunningham announces he wants us in Malta at exactly 0200 and I end up with the job of figuring out the winds and seas, then drawing some lines on a map and setting our course and speed to get us there at the right time."

"You'll have to teach me some time," Nancy said.

"I will," John said and meant it.

* * *

**Author's Note:** That marks the end of what I wrote several years ago and the beginning of where I started more recently. The writing quality will hopefully improve after this. :) I'm generally a slow, careful writer as I am a reader.

**Guest1:** So glad you are still enjoying the tale!

**jen4850:** If you are reading this, thanks so much for your review on _Hope Springs Eternal_!


	9. The Citadel

July 14, 1936. Afternoon Watch 1345

* * *

The Citadel

* * *

_Sostratus, the son of Dexiphanes, the Cnidian, dedicated this to the saviour gods, on behalf of those who sail the seas._

~ Dedication of the Lighthouse of Alexandria

* * *

The curve of the causeway swept before them, the seawall built of concrete blocks, loosely piled like a child's playthings. The sea, the Mediterranean, hurled herself in white maned spray, crashing against the concrete and recoiling like fitful silver. The sun was higher now, the rays slanting towards them and lighting the spume that came up at their feet in the cracks between the blocks.

Peggy held her hand to shield her eyes and saw the Qaitbay Citadel, gleaming pale gold in the sun. They had arrived in the Egyptian equivalent of a cab, the horse looking rather too small to haul the four wheeled carriage.

"Look," Nancy had said, just before she stepped into it, "Peggy, blue beads, around the horse's neck!"

"Just like the dromedaries!" Peggy had exclaimed.

"What is it?" Lieutenant Ross had asked as John helped the G.A. into the carriage.

"They put strings of blue beads around the necks of the animals around here," Nancy had explained. "They think it keeps the evil spirits away."

"Foolishness," the Great Aunt had said.

"We put blue beads on our bicycles and called them dromedaries," Peggy had added.

"They were about as obstinate as dromedaries," John had said quietly.

Peggy felt like pinching herself now as she looked up at the citadel and across the harbour at the skyline that stretched away to her right. She could see the minarets of mosques, the spires of the royal palace, the marble facades of the houses of government.

"She's changed, hasn't she?"

Peggy looked up to see John standing beside her, his hands deep in his pockets.

"Nancy?" Peggy asked. "Yes, she's changed."

"She seems so much more grown up."

"She really isn't, not deep down inside," Peggy said with a laugh. "But I don't know how she manages to look so sophisticated when she desperately tries not to."

John laughed and they both looked back to see Lieutenant Ross with his arm hooked through Nancy's, energetically describing the Pharos.

"It used to stand there," he was saying. "You could imagine it in three tiers, towering into the sky, a great fire burning at the top. It was one of the Seven Wonders of the World. The citadel is built on its foundations."

"I know, I've read about it," Nancy said politely. "It was damaged in an earthquake and a Sultan used the ruins to build the Citadel in the Middle Ages."

"Oh..." Lieutenant Ross said. "You _knew _that?"

They saw camels, real ones, parked opposite the sea wall like miniature mountains with swanlike heads. The camels watched them with arrogant eyes from under heavy lids as they stopped to admire the beautiful brocade and tasselled saddles on their humps, unchanged from ancient times.

"Watch out!" Roger called sharply as Peggy went too close.

"They bite, "Roger said hesitantly. "Personal experience and all that."

John laughed.

Roger had found himself bringing up the rear guard with the Great Aunt. He was half afraid of her, but she, surprisingly enough, was not bothered by him or even by Gibber. Gibber himself hung onto Roger's shoulder, with one fistful of his hair to steady himself.

"He's a squirrel monkey," Roger explained, almost apologetically. "He isn't really allowed in places in England. Mother doesn't like him in the house, but they don't seem to mind him at all here."

"He must be a great companion," The Great Aunt said. "And your mother must put up with a great deal."

"He corking," Roger said earnestly. "He really is... Mother's corking too," he added quickly.

"Where did you get him?" The Great Aunt inquired.

"Cap-" Roger nearly bit his tongue to correct himself; it would never do to give Captain Flint away. "A friend brought him from South America."

The Citadel only grew bigger as they approached it and inside was most beautiful of all. They climbed to the walls and Nancy found herself looking down into a great square courtyard, the Citadel itself to her right. A few stunted palm trees grew in the courtyard, bowed by the wind, and beyond them was the Mediterranean fleet, moored in silver rows on silver water.

"It is beautiful, isn't it?" Nancy said.

~o*o~

That night, Admiral Cunningham threw a party on the afterdeck of _Hood_.

The guests arrived aboard an ancient paddle streamer that had once carried passengers up and down the Nile, but now gave tours of the harbour to enthusiastic visitors. There were lights lit along the rail of _Hood_ and the giant guns had been raised so that they could dance on the teakwood deck. As Nancy stepped onto the deck of the _Hood_, she was dazzled by the brass buttons and gold braid that burned in the lights and the riding lamps of the fleet glimmering beneath the moon on the black water of the harbour.

Admiral Cunningham met them at the rail, eagerly welcoming them.

"Your aunt," he said, turning to Nancy and Peggy, "Tells me that you are most accomplished on the piano. Would you play for us?"

"Oh... yes," Nancy stared at her aunt, then glanced at Peggy, but Peggy avoided her gaze.

"I don't play very well," she added apologetically when she found herself standing next to an upright beneath the big guns.

"I'm sure you do," Lieutenant Ross had appeared and was smiling, the light playing across his face. Nancy smiled at him half heartedly. She had hoped that John would be there, he would at least lend moral support, but, as she sat down at the piano, he was not in sight.

Admiral Cunningham called for silence, then introduced her. Nancy's hands hung over the keys as she racked her brain for a song she could remember.

In the end, she played Rondo Alla Turka, her slim fingers flying over the keys the way water slips over well smoothed pebbles. It was not a difficult song, but it was very impressive, especially when played at a breakneck speed. Lieutenant Ross was laughing and tapping his foot in time and glancing up at him with a grin; she slammed out the last gigantic chords and took a deep breath of relief.

"Really masterful," Liuetenant Ross said as she stood up, the audience was applauding.

"Thank you," Nancy said. "But it wasn't."

"Peggy plays much better than I do," she added as he led her to the sidelines. "The Raindrop Prelude is worlds harder than Rondo Alla Turka."

"Is it?" Lieutenant Ross asked, glancing at Peggy at the piano. "I never learned. I like lively tunes myself. Perhaps it's because I'm from Scotland."

"Which part?" Nancy asked curiously.

"Inverness," Lieutenant Ross said. "It's at the other end of the Great Glen..."

Nancy sighed inwardly; she knew he was readying himself for another longwinded explanation of something.

He was in full cry when Admiral Huskisson stopped next to her, "Very well played."

"Thank you," Nancy said with a grin.

She was able to escape politely after that.

She made it to the rail and stood looking out of the harbour as she got her breath back. Her heart was still pounding wildly, people didn't bother her, but playing the piano in front of people was something else entirely.

"So it's official then?"

Nancy glanced up to see two officers standing beyond the refreshment table, the gold bands on their cuffs designating them as captains.

"The Japanese are definitely leaving the Washington Naval treaty. They've been talking about for two years, now it's official."

"How much of a threat to you think they are, really?" Captain Pridham asked, taking another sip of his Champaign.

"I don't know, they're such a jolly secretive lot, but it's been growing exponentially since they crushed the Russians. They have a big ocean navy and a pretty formidable carrier force. They've been using their big guns to shell Manchuria."

"I think they're going to be on the wrong side in this one," Captain Pridham said quietly, then glanced at Nancy and moved out of earshot.

"I didn't know you liked to play the piano."

Nancy looked up to see John leaning on the rail next to her, looking out over the harbour and at the silver path the moon was painting on the rippling water. She vaguely wondered how long he had been there, silently keeping her company.

"I don't," she said with a laugh.

"You did very well."

"Not really."

"Are you enjoying yourself, despite the piano?"

"Yes!" Nancy exclaimed, turning to lean her back against the rail. "I've been having a very good time, it's all been a bit tame, but it's fun all the same."

"Glad you think so," John said with a slight smile as he glanced at her.

Nancy lowered her voice and leaned closer, "Aunt Maria just loves you. She gushed all the way here. She thinks you're the greatest thing since sliced bread."

John's ears had gone pink and Nancy turned away so he couldn't see the smile on her face.

"Far cry from an owl at midday," he said at last.

"She liked you then, too," Nancy said, looking back. "She still talks about it."

The Blue Danube Waltz had been surrounding them for some time now, the easy lilting music rolling through the air, as couples spun by on the teakwood deck. For a moment Nancy felt transported to another time when hussars still galloped about on horseback and warships still had sails just in case their steam engines failed.

The Navy had changed since then. The ships were all steel, emotionless creatures that could lob shells at an enemy almost out of sight. An admiral no longer sailed into battle with his sword on; the great men of war no longer lay alongside the foe, their rigging locking as the Royal Marines charged aboard, their muskets popping.

"What?" Nancy looked up, realizing that John was talking to her.

"I said, 'do you want to dance'?" he looked uncomfortable and she realized that he'd said it more than once.

"I-I..." Nancy trailed off, what was she to say? He was an old friend... the very thought of dancing with him sent a wash of prickles over her and she wasn't quite sure why. She must say 'yes', but...

"It's all right if you don't want to," John said quickly. "I understand."

"That's not..." Nancy she looked around and realized with some relief that Aunt Maria was picking her way across the deck towards them.

"Ruth? Why in the world are you hiding over here?"

When she looked around again, Nancy saw that he had slipped away and shortly later, she saw him dancing with Peggy, two old friends spinning through the waltz, laughing over some old joke. Nancy looked on miserably.

In the end she ended up having to dance with a tall, gangly sub-lieutenant, who actually didn't know how to dance, even though he said he did. She had thought that she managed to avoid Lieutenant Ross quite expertly, only to fall prey to this fellow.

"Oh, yes, it's a lovely piece of music," she said when he asked her. "And if you don't mind? That's my foot..."

"I beg your pardon."

"It's quite all right," she said primly, _not! You probably broke every bone in it... for heaven's sake, not again!_

"Sorry," he said.

"It's a waltz," she said diplomatically. He didn't seem to get the point. "That means there are three beats instead of four."

"Three beats instead of four? How riveting! And you would know, seeing how talented you are on the piano."

_Yes, quite_, she thought, _there you go! You're doing it again!_

She hopped on the other foot for a second.

"Oh, I'm so sorry!" he cried. "I think this must be my bad day."

_If this is a bad day, what are your horrible days like? Thank goodness! _It was with relief that she heard the music drawing to an end. It was worse... altogether worse, then going to a dance at home with Thomas Jollys the Third... of course, none of those dances were aboard a battlecruiser at anchor in Alexandria harbour... though here, she couldn't escape and give a bland smile and say that no, she really didn't mean to disappear, she'd gotten lost in the dance.

"Yes, thank you, I enjoyed that," she said as he led her to the sidelines again, _not!_

"Would you like to dance the next one?"

"I'm a little tired," she said. "I think I'd like to sit it out, if you don't mind. Maybe another one?"

"Oh yes, of course!" he said with a grin. "Would you like some punch?"

"Yes, thank you."

He was gone and she turned, looking around for John, craning her head to see over embroidered shoulders and around elegantly gowned ladies. At last, she saw his white topped cap making its way past the gun turret and she sidled through the crowd towards him.

"John!"

He looked around, the lights glittering off the gilded insignia of the Royal Navy on his cap.

"You didn't give me a chance to answer; I'd have loved a dance."

His face lit, "Do you still want to?"

"Not now, sorry," she said. "You need to give your sub-lieutenants dancing lessons, he ground my feet to a pulp."

John laughed.

"It's not really funny," Nancy said darkly.

"He's in the Range Finders party. He took my position when I was promoted."

"I'm sure you were much better at it," Nancy said staunchly.

"Well, the only stipulation is good eyesight. I'm not sure if it requires intelligence."

"I'm sure it does." Nancy said; her sub-lieutenant was standing by the refreshment table, two glasses of punch in his hands, looking around, his face puzzled. "I say, John? Would it be all right if you showed me where you worked? I'd love to see it."

John followed her gaze and the corner of his mouth twitched up. "I don't see why not."

~o*o~

After a seemingly endless walk through cold gray corridors, John led her through a watertight door and flipped a switch on the wall. The room she found herself in was large and dominated by a huge metal table covered with gears and gauges. All around the room were telephones and voice tubes and swivelling stools and there was a smell of stale steel and old paint. In her mind's eye, she could almost see the petty officers and chief petty officers, sub lieutenants and seamen all in uniform, speaking seriously and swinging around on stools to say something important to a voice tube. She shook the image away.

"Is this where you work?"

"Sometimes." John said.

"How do you learn to do all this?" Nancy asked, wandering through the room, staring at instruments and charts that probably had strange and wonderful names.

"I had to go back to school, last year, before I could get my promotion," John said.

"Where?" Nancy asked.

"HMS _Excellent_."

"You were in England and didn't tell us?" Nancy exclaimed, turning to him, with an indefinite sense of having been betrayed.

"I didn't really have time... sorry. _Hood_ went back for repairs and I only just had enough time to cram courses for a G grading." John grinned self-consciously, then promptly changed the subject. "About tomorrow..."

"What about tomorrow?" Nancy asked, somewhat shortly. She felt angry and she didn't quite know why.

"You said you wanted to see a Souq," John said. "I was able to get a day of leave and I can bring you and Peggy down to the old city and we can go to one. I'm sure Roj would like to come along too. There are catacombs and Pompey's Pillar that dates from Roman occupations. Are you interested?"

"Of _course_!" Nancy exclaimed.

"I'm afraid it would just be Roger and me, Lieutenant Ross can't get away," John paused. "You don't mind... do you?"

Nancy rolled her eyes. "Spare me from Lieutenant Ross."

"Really?" John brightened.

* * *

**Author's Note:** The next chapter is the reckoning. it's the point where it will either get very silly, or very exciting. We will see what you think.

-Psyche

**Guest1:** Thanks, as always, for your review! I've made Gibber a spider monkey; they can live about 30 years in captivity, so if Ransome intended him to actually exist, he'd certainly still be alive. I think Roger and Gibber go so well together. ;)

**Jen4850:** I must thank you for reviewing my other S&A stories, I really appreciate it! If you should have comments, questions or criticisms, please feel free to let us know. I think I'd intended that Roger and his friend bought the airplane in Egypt. The RAF had a presence there and I would imagine that there would be old trainers hanging around... or, they shipped the crated plane to Egypt if they bought it in England. I unfortunately don't remember what I was thinking at the time I wrote it; too long ago for my memory. The idea came from the memoirs of a WWII pilot who bought a crated up biplane in the '30's, put it together and learned to fly.


	10. The Souq

July 15, 1936. Morning Watch 0700

* * *

The Souq

* * *

_Security is mostly a superstition. It does not exist in nature, nor do the children of men as a whole experience it. Avoiding danger is no safer in the long run than outright exposure. Life is either a daring adventure, or nothing.  
_~ Helen Keller

* * *

Adventure had a curious sense about it, a deep current running under the skin, a shivering of excitement. It was the spark that drove explorers to the ends of the earth, the vital river that was with Captain Cook when he was killed on the Sandwich Isles, wrapped around Earnest Shakleton's heart as he had fought the frozen south, only to be forced to turn back. Adventure was that thing you felt when you heard words like Zanzibar, or Timbuktu. It was the mist that hung heavy over the mythical mountains of the orient and the unseen voice that haunted the empty city of Petra, carved into a canyon and nearly lost to time.

Since the last century, so many things had been found; even the ancient walls of Troy had been excavated, the secret entrances on the pyramids had been found, the dusty vaults of Knossos had been unlocked and it always seemed on arrival that things were never quite as wonderful as they had been imagined.

Had all the secret places of the earth yet been discovered?

John had been for starting early and there was a gilded haze over the city. It was presently warm, but as the sun climbed, it grew hotter even with the cool winds that blew off the sea.

They walked.

The buildings that towered above them and spoke of Victoria and an England of yesteryear gave way to narrow streets and golden walls and strange latticework in the windows and alcoves that nearly touched above their heads, making the sky a narrow ribbon of blue above them. The golden sunlight slanted down into narrow alleyways, with bright rugs hanging out to air on lines that crisscross above them, throwing dizzying shadows on the street below, alive in the strange and haunting pipe music played on the corners.

The people changed too, there had been auto cars and wide streets in the younger part of the city, but here, the mass of humanity was on foot, with the occasional donkey or camel barging its way slowly through. There were no western clothes here, they were all dressed in long flowing robes of pale blue and brown and white and other colours bleached in the resolute rays of the sun. They wore turbans on their heads, whipped expertly around and the women wore burkahs over their faces and spoke quietly to each other as they gave the English a wide berth.

Little Egyptian lads clustered around them, running after them and shouting in a mix of Arabic and English.

"What do they want?" Nancy called, holding her bag above her head.

"Work," John said. "English tourists coming this way only mean one thing. They know we're going to the Souq and they know we'll want a porter."

"Will we?"

"Roger is bringing his motor bike." John said. "We'll meet him at the Souq."

The road widened and they came out on a thoroughfare where the buildings towered above them in intricate grandeur, tarnished and beautiful, speaking of another, grander time. Minarets soared into the air and they heard the strange chanting voices of the worshipers as they passed the blue tiled exterior of a mosque.

John looked over his shoulder as a voice shouting Arabic cut over the murmuring of the crowd. He put his hands on Nancy and Peggy's shoulders and they all moved to stand under a striped awning in front of a little coffee shop behind an intricate latticework.

"What's happening?" Peggy asked, looking around herself.

The crowd was parting all around them and a boy in a fez came to stand next to them with his complaining, long eared donkey. There was a steady drumming in the distance and the long groan of camels.

"It's an Egyptian wedding," John explained.

They saw the camels immediately after the crier with his long staff, swinging by almost in slow motion with great dignity and pride, staring condescendingly down at all the little people that stood around them. They were heavily decorated with brocade of different colours and gold tassels that flashed in the sunlight; the drummers, with their big brass drums, sat on their backs.

"There's the bride," John said quietly and quickly put a hand on Peggy's arm. "Don't take pictures. They might be insulted."

The bride was in a litter swinging between two snow white camels. She sat under a canopy behind a screen of flashing gold disks. She wore green and of her, they could only see her hands, heavily decorated with spiralling designs of henna.

Then the procession had passed and they only heard the shouting of the crier gradually melting into the dizzying play of light and shadow that ran up and down that golden street. The people moved on again and Nancy and Peggy watched as John was obliged to purchase something after standing so long under the awning of the coffee shop. He chose mint tea and they drank it, feeling even hotter under the merciless gaze of the sun.

Presently, they heard the buzzing of an growling engine, a sound very alien to their surroundings and presently Roger came barrelling down the road at a furious clip, expertly dodging people, one foot dragging on the ground to balance himself and Gibber clinging to his shoulder for dear life.

"Hi! Roger!" John yelled and they all waved.

Roger came to a bumpy stop next to them. "Oh, hullo! Anyone want a ride?"

"No thanks," Nancy said with a laugh.

"Oh, I say, it was a trick getting through that wedding," Roger pulled off his sun helmet and fanned himself. "They were going one way and I was going another. Went under a camel by accident."

"Was it an accident?" John asked with a shadow of a smile.

They kept on after that, the coughing growl of Roger's bike accompanying them. Several times they left him while he wheeled it to the side of the road to tinker with it, but they always heard it buzzing up behind them again.

"Beastly thing doesn't work very well in this heat." Roger complained.

"You need blue beads for it," Peggy suggested.

The entrance of the Souq was an arching gate at the end of a narrow road. There were blue tiles inlaid in the plaster and a mass of humanity coming and going. Nancy felt a sudden surge in her throat as they passed under the arch into the greens, reds and golds of an open air Souq. She had dreamed of being in a place like this, dreamed...

"Do you like it?" John asked, leaning close to her to be heard over the noise.

"Yes!" she breathed.

There was the flashing of white teeth in the dark faces of Egyptians all around them, pushing things into her hands, soft scarves, shining brass, smooth, glowing ivory. The merchants sat cross-legged on rugs in the doorways of their booths, their wears gleaming in the saturated sunlight that slanted past the awnings above them, hanging as if they were full of sun and it was spilling down onto the street below.

There was quiet and noise, but the sort of low, lulling noise that slowly melts into the back of one's head. The booths seemed to go on forever under many coloured awnings. Course rugs were piled high, their colours brilliant and beautiful beneath lamps and brass incense burners hanging above them lit as if with other worldly light. There were cedar boxes inlaid with black and white chips of marble; there were brightly coloured leather slippers; etched perfume bottles. There was the smell of spices in the air and coffee and mint and foreignness and Nancy and Peggy breathed it in deeply.

The merchants were smoking their water pipes and they had obviously seen John before. They opened their arms and shouted to him across the narrow pathway, offering him cups of coffee. Eagerly, they pushed silks and wools into Nancy and Peggy's hands, their teeth flashing as they smiled.

John led them into one booth which seemed a little smaller than the rest, but once they were in it, was much larger than they expected. There was a shelf of tiny figurines, impossibly small and carved of soapstone, onyx and jade.

"These are beautiful," Nancy said. "They are the Egyptian gods and goddesses, aren't they?"

Peggy recognized Atum, Geb, the tall, graceful figure of Isis, Nut, Osiris wrapped in linen, Nephthys, the jackal headed god Set, Shu, and Tefnut.

"There's something special about these," John said. "These are ancient. They are found in various Egyptian tombs that have been dug up all over the country. The locals sell the amulets and burn the bodies in steam engines instead of coal."

"Giminy!" Nancy cried. "They do?"

John started bartering and they watched as he and the merchant haggled and fought and pretended like the intricate dance of the snake charmer just outside the door. At last he had acquired them each a tiny figurine and a mummified cat.

"Something to show your grandchildren," he said with a laugh.

"Did you get them for a good price?" Nancy asked, as she tilted her tiny jade figurine of Isis in the palm of her hand.

"They always rip him off," Roger interjected. "He's too nice."

As they continued on, there was the sound of pipes and drums, both wild and soft as wind rustling the reeds by the Nile. Barely clad dancing girls swayed like the cobras rising out of the baskets of the snake charmers, bangles around their ankles, sequins flashing on their costumes.

Nancy stopped to watch them. She was hypnotised by their fluid movements, sunlight glowing on their skin. They had a strange magnetism about them, drawing the watchers closer like shards to loadstone.

"Let's keep on," Nancy said at last.

"Right, you'll like the next booth," John said, ticking Nancy on the shoulder, Peggy turned to follow them, but paused when she saw Roger looking slightly miffed.

"What is it?" she asked.

"It's Gibber," Roger said. "He's gone again."

"We'll have to find him," Peggy said, remembering the cobras in the basket of the snake charmer. Gibber wouldn't think twice about looking in to see what they were.

Roger knew a bit of Arabic himself and with much arm waving he found out that Gibber had been sighted travelling towards the silk merchant's shop. They followed.

"There he is!" Roger cried, breaking into a run, dodging customers. Peggy ran after him and just saw a shimmering as incense burners rippled and Gibber's tail disappeared into the shadows. The next moment Roger appeared, triumphant; Gibber was on his shoulder, looking his dead level best as if he'd always been there and had never thought of anything else. Peggy glared at him and Gibber looked unconcerned.

"Well, let's go find the others again," Peggy said.

~o*o~

Nancy found herself following John into a very different shop than the last. There were weapons of all sorts laid out on silk cloth and gleaming in the shadows. She saw curved scimitars, the blades glittering dully with a swirling pattern in the steel and cautiously she picked up a curved dagger in an ivory sheath, the hilt carved in the shape of a lion's head.

If she had suddenly stepped into the Arabian Nights, she would not have been the least surprised. It seemed strangely unreal that she was standing there in the heart of Alexandria with a naval officer, looking at an ornamental dagger. Just a few months earlier she had consigned herself to imaging herself somewhere interesting... never had she dreamed that she would not have to imagine.

John was talking about Titty and her passion for writing.

"She says she wants to become a journalist," John said. "I'm not too keen on it."

"She'd be a good one," Nancy said.

"Yes, she would, but she wants to be a foreign correspondent. Here we are on the brink of war and she wants to make her career somewhere in Europe, or the Far East. Daddy's nervous about it, too."

"The world is much tamer than it used to be," Nancy said.

"There, at least, I don't agree with you." John said. "If anything it's a wilder place than it ever was."

"They're all on Malta now?" Nancy said, changing the subject.

"Yes, Mum, Titty, Bridget and Andrew."

"I want to meet Andrew."

"I think you'd like him," John said, running his finger along the curve of a jade sheathed dagger. "He's a lot like my father and they get on well." He glanced at her. "I want to meet your father."

Nancy nodded and had the sudden realization that they would like each other. There wasn't much doubt about that. "I hope you will."

"Where's Roj gotten to?" John asked, looking around.

"Gibber got away again and they've gone to look for him," Nancy said.

She walked deeper into the booth, her eyes feasting on the beautiful ornamental weapons (and not so ornamental ones) that seemed to be everywhere. There were gems set in the leather sheath of a curving sword and her eyes ran up the length of it to where it was half covered by the draping awning. She reached out to brush it away and in the dull light, saw the gleam of rounded steel.

"John, what's that?"

He looked around and she saw his face change as she revealed the thing a bit more. There was a wooden stock, a carefully milled sight, a trigger... John reached out and covered it again, then took her hand.

"Come on."

"Wait!" Nancy said, miffed, twisting free of his grasp. "I'm not done looking."

"Nancy, come!" John's voice was very even, but there was a hint of urgency in it.

Then she heard a dull thud and John suddenly leaned heavily on her, forcing her off balance as he rolled to the floor. She spun around, her eyes widening in horror when she saw him lying on the ground.

"Jo-" her voice was cut off as a strong hand closed over her mouth.


	11. The Scented Land

July 15, 1936. Forenoon Watch 1120

* * *

The Scented Land

* * *

_Success consists of going from failure to failure without loss of enthusiasm. _

~ Winston Churchill

* * *

"The question is: where have they gone?" Roger asked as they walked down the length of the Souq for the second time. Peggy had a firm grip of his shoulder and her heart was pounding a little faster.

"Do you think they're all right?"

"Oh, them? Of course," Roger said, but there was a hint of worry in his voice, John's naval cap was clutched in his hand. It was the only trace they had found of them. "He wouldn't' have just left it behind."

One of the merchants was watching them, his face grave and as Roger looked his way, he motioned them over hurriedly, moving back into the shadows of his shop. "Quick, quick."

Peggy recognized him as one of the merchants that had given them all coffee, free of charge. John obviously knew him well and he had been very kind to them, giving them all small souvenirs to remember him by.

Roger was speaking his strange mix of English and Arabic and after a bit, they slowly began to understand each other. Peggy watched as the blood drained from Roger's face.

"What happened?" Peggy demanded, seizing his arm.

"They've been taken," Roger said as he hurriedly saluted the merchant and dragged her out of the shop. "Hurry!"

He forced himself to keep walking and keep smiling and he nudged Peggy. "You look like you've just swallowed a bee; smile."

She smiled, with frightening results. Then they were out of the Souq and Roger was standing up his motor bike where it had fallen.

"Shouldn't we get help?" Peggy asked, ashamed of how her voice shook.

"Can't." Roger said shortly, kicking the thing into life. "We've got to follow at once or they'll vanish. Hop on."

"Where have they gone?"

"We'll find out."

Roger had obviously had some sort of direction from the merchant and there was no time for talking as he gunned the engine and circled around people at a dizzying speed, the bike nearly going over but for both of them frantically keeping it upright.

"Where are we going?" Peggy yelled, trying to hold on to Roger with one arm and Gibber with the other. She still had the camera and she wasn't sure what was thumping her chest harder, it, or her heart.

"The river!" Roger cried.

The streets were growing wider and they came out onto a large plaza, a tall, smooth stone pillar towering into the sky among swaying palm trees, a miniature of the sphinx at its foot.

"That's Pompey's Pillar," Roger explained as they buzzed by it, very nearly overturning on the corner. Peggy hung grimly on.

The street was growing ever wider and the houses were single now, no longer connected in long uneven rows, leaning over narrow, shadowed alleyways. There were more trees; flowering fruit trees intermingled with taller palm trees. They passed a group of women standing by a well, talking and laughing, their pots balanced on their heads. A large and very ancient lorry rattled up the road and they moved to the side to let it pass, Roger watching it as it went by.

Beyond the trees, the land was much flatter and marshier, rushes shivering in the wind that blew low over the land. It seemed like ages as they motored down it, no sound but the growling of the engine beneath them, jarring them both so that Peggy clamped her teeth shut to keep them from rattling loose. They passed people, donkeys, camels and saw beggars sitting by the side of the road, asking for alms. They were on a sort of dike and below them was brown water, artificiality widened like a canal.

"Have you got any money?" Roger asked suddenly, swerving around a pothole and narrowly missing a donkey cart ambling along in front of them.

"A little!" Peggy yelled into his ear.

They topped a little rise and came bumping down to a halt in a little open air market, the air filled with the sweetness of fresh fruit and the sing song of bartering voices. Beyond the awnings and multitude of people balancing baskets on their heads, Peggy saw the dull gleam of the river and several boats moored at a sort of hard. It took her a moment to realize that it was the Nile River.

Roger roared through the middle of the market, his feet dragging on the ground to keep them upright. There was a group of men sitting by their boats, bartering with people over fish and fruit and other things that had been brought down the Nile to be sold.

Roger started talking before he was even off his bike, elbowing his way among the sailors. It was a strange scene, because they had no English and he had very little Arabic and at last, with much gesturing and the promise of money, he managed to learn something.

"They've seen them," he said triumphantly. "They were in that lorry that passed us and took a steam launch up the Nile."

"Who are they?" Peggy asked, pulling at his sleeve. "Are they all right?"

Roger barely heard her. The faces around them had grown hard and suspicious and several of the sailors waved their hands, obviously wishing them away. Roger talked until he was hoarse and at last one of them nodded slowly and gestured him to one side. Money was exchanged and the sailor signalled a younger man seated cross-legged on one of the boats and together, the two of them lifted Roger's motor bike and stowed it aboard.

"They're going to take us up river," Roger said. "I hope you have enough money. I promised them more when we get there."

"Get where?" Peggy asked.

"Where ever they are." Roger said. "Come on."

Peggy felt strangely surreal as she followed Roger into one of the tall-masted river boats moored by the bank of the river. There were eyes painted on the curving bow ("so they can see where they're going," Roger said) and there was a liberal coat of sky blue paint over the hull. Chanting in the sunlight, the sailor and his son slowly raised the great patched mainsail and Peggy was half surprised to see that it was a lateen rig, just like Amazon's.

"Are you sure we're doing right?" Peggy asked, anther surge of nervousness washing over her as the sail slowly billowed out, the sheet catching it with a jerk. The vessel suddenly seemed to come alive, heeling very slightly as she moved against the current.

"Too late to ask now," Roger said, seating himself and Gibber on one of the thwarts, trying to make room for his feet among a pile of glass and rope buoys.

~o*o~

Nancy blinked at the dull light that was painting the wooden floor through the latticework in the window. She was laying half propped against the wall, desperately trying to spit the gag out of her mouth. She had tried to shout, but they had stuffed an evil smelling rag into her mouth and through she had struggled they had been too strong.

They had carried her out into the alley behind the Souq and she saw men, armed, just before they wrapped a blindfold around her eyes. She saw John, limp as they dragged him out into the street and let him lie. There was blood on his face.

She wasn't dead sure what had followed after that. They may have blindfolded her and gagged her, but she could still hear. They threw her somewhere among rolled up rugs, she could feel them brushing her face, course and scented. It was a lorry, she knew, when it roared into life, whining as the driver let out the clutch, and backfiring angrily.

After that, she could only hear the shifting of gears and the stream of talk from her driver whenever they had to stop. Her wrists were tied behind her and she shifted, trying to get comfortable. She could hear breathing next to her and she could only hope it was John.

Had hours passed? Or only minutes? It seemed forever that they roared along, steadily down shifting as they went up hills. Then there was some time when she knew they were on a flat because the driver never shifted at all. She brushed her face against the rugs, trying to get the blindfold off, but it had been knotted into her hair and it wouldn't come loose.

Presently, there was a horrible screech of brakes and she saw muted light through the cloth over her face. Somebody grabbed her ankle and she kicked as hard as she could, struggling desperately as hands dragged her out of the bed of the lorry and dropped her on the ground. She lay there, gasping for breath, then she was being carried along again.

They loaded her on a boat; she could tell by the way it shifted under them as they stepped aboard. There was the steady hiss of a steam engine and some sort of awning overhead casting a shadow and presently they were chugging along. Something touched her foot and she kicked at it and was gratified by a cry of pain. Somebody seized her roughly and propped her somewhere else, among a pile of shifting things that smelled of leather.

"Gaugh," she said, trying her best to say John's name. She only heard muffled voices.

After that, nothing happened for a long time and she closed her eyes and tried to steady her breathing. She heard steady ticking next to her and with a sudden surge of hope; she thought it might be John's wrist watch.

"Gaugh!" she tried again.

Then she heard something else, a soft tapping. For a moment she thought it was something to do with the steam engine that huffed along, radiating heat, a few feet from her; but this was not steady. She listened, her ears pricking to it as it repeated again and again.

Then with a rush of hope, she recognized it as a call sign of the Royal Navy.

Hurriedly she tapped back, the heel of her shoe making contact with the bulwarks.

The tapping started again, muffled by the sound of the engine. She lost some of it, but carefully she pieced it together.

_Are you all right?_

It was! _It was!_ John was somewhere close and he was Morsing her. Her heart pounded as she tapped back.

_Yes, You?_

_Fine._

_Who are they?_

She heard raised voices; there was a dull thud, a soft groan and the Morsing stopped abruptly. She only caught part of it.

_Smug-_

Smug? Desperately she wished she could see.

She laid there for an age, her joints beginning to ache horribly as her weight came down on her bound arms behind her. She tried to shift again, but someone pushed her back and she kicked out. At last they got the hint and propped her in a different position.

The watch ticked on and the voices ran together overhead, muffled by the chugging of the engine. _Where were Peggy and Roger?_ She asked the darkness. They would get help, they must get help! What was happening? It seemed that hours passed before the boat grounded gently and slowly the chugging ceased.

They had carried them up here, in this dim room with the latticework over the window. They had taken off the blindfold and cut the ropes around her wrists. There were a pile of boxes at the other end of the room, all tumbling over each other, black in the shadows and next to them was a heavy inlaid chest, by the smell, made of cedar.

Nancy sat up and saw that John was next to her, lying on the floor. His eyes were closed and as she shifted her hand, she realized that they had been handcuffed together. Her other hand was free and she tore the gage out of her mouth.

"John!" she whispered, bending over him. Desperately she picked up his limp hand and felt for his pulse... there it was, fluttering under her cold fingers. "John! Wake up!"

She shook him as hard as she could, pulling on his shoulder to make him sit up, but he was a dead weight and she could not move him. Desperately she looked around, whishing for cold water to revive him. The room was empty except for the violin cases... violin cases?

That's what they looked like.

There was a moan next to her and John moved his hand to touch his forehead gently.

"John!" she exclaimed, bending down again.

"I'm going to be court marshalled for this," he said thickly. "You know, absent without leave and all that."

"John!" she felt like laughing and crying all at once as he slowly sat up, breathing hard.

"Banging me on the head once is bad enough," he moaned, "but twice? I wonder if I have a concussion."

He felt his head again.

"Look here," Nancy said, getting a hold of herself. "Do you think you could use your other hand? We don't both need to feel your head."

"Are we handcuffed?" John exclaimed and Nancy's hand was jerked violently as he raised his arm. "Oh, lovely. Can you shinny out of it?"

She tried, working her hand around the metal bracelet, but her hands had swollen and it was very tight. Then he muttered an exclamation and she saw that his other hand was handcuffed to the leg of the chest that stood next to them. They were effectively locked in.

"Can we lift it?" John asked, climbing to his knees to inspect the chest. It was very large and Nancy knew it would be heavy.

"Let's try," she said stoutly.

They took their positions at the end of it.

"Ready?" John asked, "One, two, three, lift!"

The thing seemed to weight a ton and Nancy felt something give in her back, then it came down again with a thump.

"Did you get it?"

"Yes," John said, standing up. "I think they underestimated the strength of an Amazon pirate."

"And a naval officer," Nancy added with a laugh as they stood up.

John walked to the window, unthinkingly dragging her with him. He craned his head to see out of the latticework that covered it and Nancy stood beside him just glimpsing another old building opposite them, glowing like a collage through the ornate holes in the lattice.

"I wonder where we are," John said at last, turning away to survey the room. "Are those violin cases?"

"That's what I thought." Nancy said, following his gaze.

They were perfectly ordinary violin cases, lots of them; all heaped up at the other end of the room. They went over to look at them more closely, running their hands over dark leather.

"What could be smuggled in a violin case?" John asked, shifting through the pile.

"Smuggled?" Nancy asked, looking up at him quickly. "Is that what you were trying to say?"

"I don't know what else it would be," John said. "I thought guns, but why violins?"

Nancy picked up the closest one and flipped back the catches, opening the lid. Her jaw dropped and she pushed it into John's hands.

The inside of the case had been modified and it was obvious that it had never been meant to house a violin. Where the violin ought to have been there was a smooth oak stock and below it, a metal barrel. It only took Nancy a moment before she realized that it was a gun and a strange one at that.

"Thompson submachine gun," John said at once; all ready, he was taking the pieces out of the case and assembling them. "I didn't go to gunnery school for nothing."

He stood there, staring at it in his hands, "This is what they're smuggling, then. All the way from America. They're expensive little things."

Slowly, he took it apart again and set the case back on top of the pile. He glanced at Nancy, "We're going to have to get out of here."

"I've been thinking that," Nancy said dryly. "Any ideas, skipper?"

John glanced at the window, then back at her, "Not at the moment. How about you?"

Nancy shook her head.

They went to sit down again, as another wave of dizziness washed over John. They could hear voices in the passage outside their door and they watched as the light grew dimmer in the room. The shadow of the latticework window slowly shifted across the ancient polished floor as the sun sank towards the horizon.

Nancy could just see a marbled sky through the lattice, turning gold, then silver as the light went away the way the tide does at the edge of the ocean. She glanced up at John and saw that he was staring at her. He looked down abruptly, twisting the handcuff around his wrist, when she caught his gaze.

"It's funny they haven't robbed us," John said at last. "I still have my watch and all my money."

"I've got my bag," Nancy said, picking it up where it was laying on the floor. She looked through it and ascertained that nothing was missing, not even the mummified cat. It gazed at her steadily in the gloom, its ancient painted face sombre and strange.

It had seen more lives than hers.

* * *

**Author's Note:** For now on, posting will be sped up a great deal because I am running out of time. I would be extremely thankful if my readers would try giving me some constructive criticism. I want to know what you like and what you don't like; for example: how do you like my style? Do you think the characters are well developed? How is the pacing of the story?

Thank you,

~Psyche

**Guest1**: Andrew is an invention of ours, a last addition to the Walker Family. He is talked about more in some of our other S&A stories.


	12. Amisi

July 15, 1936. First Dog Watch 1745

* * *

Amisi

* * *

_I am the wind that wavers, _

_You are the certain land; _

_I am the shadow that passes _

_Over the sand._

_I am the leaf that quivers, _

_You, the unshaken tree; _

_You are the stars that are steadfast, _

_I am the sea. _

~ Zoë Akins

* * *

Some time passed before the door opened and two silhouettes stepped into the room. One of them was wearing western clothes, a wrinkled linen suit and a straw hat; his shoes were shining white even in the dim room. Nancy stared up at him for a full minute before she recognized him. The name came first, then the memory.

"Lester White!" she gasped.

He stopped, speechless. "Miss Blackett?"

"_Who_ is it?" John asked. He sat with his back to the chest, his free hand out of sight behind him.

Lester White was the first to regain his composure. "Miss Blackett, I'm terribly sorry for this inconvenience. I'm afraid you were in the wrong place at the wrong time."

"Let us go," Nancy said.

"I'd like to, but I can't."

The Egyptian next to him was speaking, his Arabic racing by at a fantastic pace. Nancy looked first at him, then at John to see his jaw harden.

"What's he saying?" she whispered.

John started to speak in Arabic, very slowly, stumbling over his words. The hardness of his voice sent chills down Nancy's spine. Lester White added something.

"Tell him our government will pay for us," John said at last, desperately.

"He doesn't want your government to know," Lester White said, his voice sounded less confident then it had.

"We have rich relations," John tried a new angle. "We can figure something out. You must at least let Miss Blackett go."

The Egyptian, whom Nancy had started to think of as 'the boss', shook his head, his words flowing into the room. John stiffened.

"Look here!" he exclaimed. "I don't really care what you do with me. But you can't do that to Miss Blackett. She has nothing to do with it. Let her go, she doesn't know anything."

"If it was up to me I'd let you both go now," Lester White said evenly. "But I can't. Let me speak to him alone."

They left then, closing the door and shutting out the slanting light that had sliced across the room. Nancy heard the key turn in the lock.

John scrambled to his feet, dragging her with him to the window.

"What were they saying?" she gasped. Then she added in a lower voice. "Do they want to kill us?"

John was silent as he rattled the ornate screen over the window. It was carved of wood and looked very delicate, though it really wasn't, "I might be able to break it down."

He ran his hand carefully over the window frame, his fingers catching each imperfection in the wood. The screen was held in with little nails and quickly he thrust his hand into his pocket, taking Nancy's hand with it. She felt a mix of string, something small that felt like a compass and the smooth ivory of a pocket knife. He pulled out the knife and flipped open the blade, using it to painstakingly work loose the nails. She saw that they were wrought iron and very old, obviously handmade as she looked at one, turning it in the dusky light.

"Now then," John said at last, catching the edge of the frame as he gently worked it loose. Nancy took the other end and they set it on the floor, propping it against the wall. The alcove of a sort that formed the window overhung the street below and on one side it touched the stone wall of a building at right angles with theirs. John leaned over the window sill, looking down two stories to the street, than glanced up, craning his head to see the little roof that covered their window. There was another window above, recessed, then the roof of the building itself. The sun had gone a long time ago and the sky was clear and dark, with a hint of blue still touching the horizon.

"Do you have a head for heights?" John asked, ducking back into the room.

"Yes," Nancy said. "Are you going first?"

"Yes," John said, then took a deep breath. "Now then."

He stepped out on the ledge, just below him empty space and a long fall to the cobbles that lined the street. He inched along, the fingers of his left hand clinging to the edge of the little roof that covered the window.

"Quick, John," Nancy hissed. "There's someone coming."

"Step out now," John whispered back.

Without hesitation, Nancy put a foot out the window, feeling for the ledge. She had it; slowly she eased her weight down, creeping after John.

"I'm going to try to get up on the roof above the window," John said, glancing up at it.

"Hurry," Nancy whispered.

In the silence that followed, they both heard the sound of a key turning in the lock of the door of the room they just left. Nancy's heart thumped wildly as she leaned against the frame of the open window. She would be in full sight of anyone coming through the door.

Quickly, John reached up with both hands, seizing the edge of the roof to pull himself up. Nancy stood on tiptoe, stretching her hand up, so he could climb further, the handcuff biting into her wrist. Desperately, John flopped onto the roof sideways, deeply thankful that it was flat.

"Look out," Nancy hissed as the handcuff ground into her left wrist. "I can't stretch up much further."

"I'll pull you up." He replied.

He reached down for her other hand and the next moment he was hauling her up. She gasped as the edge of the roof dug into her ribs and her wrists felt ready to give way, then she was scrambling next to him on the roof.

"All right?" John whispered, but didn't wait for an answer. There were footsteps in the room below them as they crouched there in the dark.

Light blazed through the open window, washing over the sill into the darkening air. There were voices, hurriedly spoken and John and Nancy pushed back against the wall as a head was thrust out of the window. Then the head disappeared and a short while later, the light vanished too.

"Quick," John said, standing up.

There was another window at their backs, not jutting out over the street like the other, but recessed. It was dark, but John wasn't sure if they wouldn't be looking there next. The roof of the house was the only place to go.

The house was built of stone, the colour of sand and ornamentally carved. The roof, like the roof over the window, was flat and a few moments more, they clambered up on it; bruised, but safe for the moment. They scrambled across the roof on hands and knees, Nancy's arm wrenching every time she fell behind John. The roof they were on was one of several in a row, leaning over a dark and very narrow alley.

"We can jump," John said quietly. "We'll be safer on the other side."

He grabbed her hand and Nancy took a deep breath.

They jumped.

She landed on her hands and knees on the opposite roof and John forced her down flat. Then she saw what he was looking at; there were lights moving in the window above the room they had just escaped from. One light carefully picked its way up the wall and onto the roof, following the path they had just taken. There was a shout and John seized her hand and dragged her across the roof, out of sight.

The moon was rising above them, the rays gleaming on the finger of the Nile that flowed past the town. It was not a large village, but they could see the minarets of a mosque, black silhouettes against the sky.

The house next to them was taller than the one they were on and there was a window set in the wall. John scrambled over to it, pushing a beaded curtain aside to look into a dark room.

"We could hide in there," he whispered.

"It's someone's house!" Nancy hissed.

John did not reply, but slipped into the room, dragging her after him. They crept through the darkness, their feet sinking into a deep rug underfoot. The walls were tiled, but they could not tell the colour in the dull light.

There was a soft shriek and Nancy ducked under John's arm to see.

A girl in white had just opened the door to the next room, both her hands over her face, staring at them, her eyes silver in the moonlight. She was very young, perhaps twelve or thirteen.

John spoke quickly, backing towards the open window, but the girl followed them, lowering her hands. She stared at Nancy, reaching out tentatively to touch her hair; then she spoke in Arabic, her voice lilting and gentle.

John started talking again, looking over his shoulder at the window. The girl looked too, seeing the lights flashing on the opposite roof. Then she made up her mind and took Nancy by the arm, leading through to the next room to push them behind an embroidered screen in the corner.

"She's very brave," John whispered as they knelt down in the darkness.

"What did you say?"

"I told her what was happening and she recognized that we were English, said she knew an English gentlewoman and if you were like her then she would help us."

There was talking in the next room, the quick sing song of Arabic and the sweeter voice of the girl. Nancy knelt there, her heart thumping in her chest, she squeezed her eyes shut, praying they would not be found. John still had her hand and he squeezed hers gently and she felt a rush of gratitude. He was the bravest person she knew, she had always envied him for it. He always thought of the right thing to do at the right time to save everything. In her mind's eye she could see him standing amidships in _Swallow_ as she filled with water, coolly throwing the anchor over the bows. He had been the same when he and his brother and sisters had drifted out of harbour in a Bermuda cutter and crossed the North Sea in a gale. He hadn't really talked about it afterwards, but the others had and she could imagine exactly how he had been.

The voices had gone away and silence had taken their place, a thick, scented silence and there in the darkness Nancy realized how very tired she was. She could hear the ticking of John's watch again, the only sound but for their breathing in the darkness. Moonlight slanted through a latticework in the window across the room and lay in strange silver shapes on the floor. There was an ornate wardrobe in the corner, inlaid and beautiful.

Nancy jarred alert a moment later as John stood up. She scrambled after him; he looked ghostly in his white uniform in the moonlight and the girl stood a few feet from them, gesturing them to come.

They went back through the door and she turned to them by the window, speaking earnestly to Nancy.

"What's she saying?" Nancy whispered, glancing up at John.

"She wants to know your name." John said.

"Nancy," Nancy said, looking in her eyes.

"Nancy," the girl repeated. The name Nancy had called herself so long sounded strangely beautiful on her tongue.

"Amisi," the girl said, pointing to herself.

"Amisi," Nancy repeated. "Thank you."

There was no possible way that they could understand each other, yet it seemed she comprehended her perfectly. Amisi laughed, her silver eyes gleaming in the moonlight; she turned to John and said something and he looked suddenly embarrassed.

"What did she say?" Nancy asked.

"Nothing," John said, taking her hand and scrambling back through the window.

They walked quietly across the roof, stooping as they went and looking over their shoulders to the now quiet rooftop opposite them.

"She says there is smaller roof we can drop on down here," John whispered and they looked over the edge of the roof to see the roof that shaded the front door below them. John swung over the edge of the roof, finding a toe hold on a ledge, Nancy followed, balancing next to him as he dropped down on the lower roof.

Nancy muffled a cry of pain as he wrenched her wrist and she lost her balance, landing on him in the darkness.

"All right?" he whispered, picking her up.

"Perfectly," she said. "Sorry."

"My fault," John said. "I'll lower you on the next one,"

The next drop was even further and they landed among potted plants on the road below. Nancy knelt down just to touch the dirt.

John had her by the wrist again and she trotted to match his long strides. They slipped into the shadow of the row of houses opposite and reached the end of the street, looking out onto a wider road. They ran then, keeping to the shadows and Nancy wished that she hadn't chosen a pale yellow dress to wear and that John wasn't in his tropics uniform.

"Where are we going?" she panted.

"Away."

Just away.

John was lost. He hadn't the faintest idea where they were. His only thought was to get her somewhere that was safe, where she wouldn't disappear. He wondered if he would ever tell her what they had been talking about in that room.

The Egyptian had wanted to sell her.

There were easier ways to shut people up, but he was out for a profit. Much of the Arabic had gone over John's head, but he had gathered that the Egyptian was in the pay of Lester White. If he could make another profit out of an Englishwoman who had unfortunately stumbled onto their ring, he wouldn't hesitate. She could vanish so easily and never be seen again.

John wasn't quite sure what they had planned to do with him, but it would have been equally unpleasant. Lester White had argued in their favour and had even offered money, but he had less to offer than they were really worth and he had known it. It would take too long for money to come from England and in the meantime they would be a nuisance, the Egyptian had pointed out, really much better to get rid of them quietly.

Voices brought John abruptly to the present. Looking over his shoulder, he saw the beam of a electric torch dancing over uneven walls behind them. He glanced around. The roof was too high to climb and a recessed door would not be adequate; the alley was far too narrow to conceal them as it meandered on, twisting between ancient plastered houses.

"Be quick, let's get around the corner," Nancy whispered.

They ran again, dodging around a corner. A great arched doorway opened to their right leading into a large courtyard where a set of steps lead up to the roof. As they stepped through, looking around for a place to hide, moonlight gleamed on flagstones polished by years of wear. Nancy couldn't help thinking, even then, how beautiful it was, how uniquely each hand crafted building had been made.

John saw what he was looking for. A massive water jar stood in the corner of the courtyard just where the roof dipped. The next moment, they were squeezing behind it, trying to make themselves as small as possible. Nancy was crushed against the wall and she couldn't see anything, through she tried. John was taking up too much room.

Then there was silence and the soft ticking of John's watch.

The electric torch came first, painting the walls as the searchers came even with the archway they had come through a few seconds before. Then it went on and John and Nancy breathed a sigh of relief.

"Are they gone?" Nancy whispered.

"They may be back," John replied.

They sat in silence, shoulder to shoulder, in the arms of the darkness all around them. The moon's face was serene, completely unconcerned with their plight as she made her nightly vigil across the sky, gleaming a path across the black water in the water jar they crouched behind.

At last Nancy nudged John and he nodded, standing up. She followed him back out of the alley and back the way they had come, a river of stars above them. They reached a larger road and they looked cautiously up it, where it made another turn.

"There's someone coming," Nancy whispered. John had her hand and the next moment they were standing in a recessed doorway, the ornate carvings on the door digging into their backs, marble columns on each side.

Two people were standing in the middle of the street, talking; a girl in western clothes and a very tall, gangly fellow, who was arguing something. A small monkey was curled on his shoulder.

"That's Peggy," Nancy whispered, stiffening.

"And Roger," John added. "Idiots."


	13. Moon Path

July 15, 1936. Last Dog Watch 1915

* * *

Moon Path

* * *

_Adventure is not outside man; it is within. _

~George Eliot

* * *

John whistled like a lark and Roger and Peggy stopped talking and looked around, to see John gesturing them on. Roger nodded and started walking and John looked back down the alley, then stepped out onto the main road, Nancy following.

"Let's keep to the shadows," Nancy whispered, pulling his arm.

John nodded and they pressed against the side of a house, out of sight of the moon.

Roger and Peggy where waiting for them at the next corner.

"I say, old man," Roger whispered. "What ever happened?"

"Nancy, are you all right?" Neither Peggy nor Nancy liked to make shows of affection in public, but Peggy threw her arms around her sister and held her so tight Nancy could barely breathe. "We didn't have any idea how we would find you."

"Don't be a galoot, I'm perfectly all right." Nancy said, patting her on the back. "We all are now."

"No talking," John whispered, touching Peggy's shoulder. "How did you get here?"

"In a dhow," Roger explained. "We only just arrived, I'm afraid; against the current the whole way. We saw your steam launch pulled up on the bank and figured you must have got off here. I say, I hope you've got some money; I've spent all ours on our captain. Insatiable fellow."

"I have some," John said. "Which way to the river?"

"Not dead sure," Roger said. "This place is so twisty. If we go west we should come to it. Have you got a compass?"

John nodded, fishing it out of his pocket. "We'll keep down here. If anyone comes, lurk, and I mean it."

"Right," Roger said, then he paused to pull something out of his shirt, it was white and there was a gleam of a gilt insignia on it. Roger handed it to John and Nancy saw that it was his uniform cap.

"You dropped it," Roger said with a lopsided grin.

~o*o~

Narrow alleys twisted this way and that with no apparent rhyme or reason to their direction. Some ran next to each other, leading into each other with narrow colonnades. There were some paths or walk ways that led sharply upward, some with stairs when the grade grew too steep. Sometimes they found themselves walking under archways when the alley suddenly went under a roof.

Over and over again that night, they found themselves following a promising looking alley down a few sets of steps and around a few corners only to lead find themselves staring at a locked door. Then they had to retrace their steps and find where they had started.

Occasionally, they passed beautifully wrought lamps flickered over ancient doorways, but for the most part, the night was black around them and they strove to stay in the shadows, the moon mocking them with her light as they walked. Time passed and the sickening realization dawned that either the town went on forever, or they were going in circles.

They came to the middle of the town sometime around midnight, when the moon was directly overhead, her light reflected back a thousand times by the tanning pits, stinking in the darkness, like the honey combs of a beehive, unchanged for hundreds of years. In day time, the pits would be brilliant with colours, but now, as they skirted them, they were all black as pitch.

Cats were out in force, their blood chilling yowling splitting the air and exchanging hissing screeches with Gibber where he sat rigidly on Roger's shoulder. Sometimes a black silhouette would slink like dark silk along the edge of a roof, then it would turn a head and fix them with a pair of moonlit eyes.

The cats seemed to own the town.

They saw the electric torch again at the end of an alley, dashing up and down in yellow concentric circles as it searched for them. This time, there was nowhere to hide except behind a row of wide, square columns, deep in the shadows under an overhang.

"Everyone pick a column," John whispered, pushing Nancy behind the closest one. The others dispersed, vanishing like the cats into the shadows. Twisting her head, her cheek against cold stone, Nancy could just see Roger's sun helmet in the darkness and beyond him Peggy's golden hair, ghostlike in the shadow of her column.

Lester White was at the other end of the electric torch that came dancing down the alley towards them. Suddenly, starkly, it painted the outlines of the columns on the wall behind them, then continued on. Nancy could feel John's hand on her shoulder, pushing her deeper into the gloom.

A small dark shadow raced across the cobbles just in front of Lester White and the light followed it as it scampered up the wall to find refuge of the top of an arched door. At first Nancy thought it was a cat, then she knew better.

"It's Gibber," she whispered.

"What?" John whispered sharply.

Gibber hissed as the light picked him out, illuminating his tiny, wrinkled and strangely human face. Lester White stared up at him for a moment, then shrugged and continued on down the alley. John knew the dark lump under his coat was the handle of a hand gun.

"Let's keep on," Nancy whispered when the light turned a corner and was eaten up by the darkness.

"All right," John said.

Roger dashed across the alley to coax Gibber down.

"No, Roger, no time!" John whispered as loudly as he could.

Roger ignored him and at last, Gibber scampered down his arm.

"Keep a hold of him," John said brusquely.

They reached the end of their alleyway and Nancy saw a ripple of silver very low down and realized with a surge of hope that it was the river at last. They found themselves under a row of palm trees and as they walked down the bank they saw their honourable captain standing by the dhow, looking dissatisfied. He started talking as soon as Roger was in earshot.

"For goodness sakes!" Roger hissed, "Hush up!"

John began talking and the captain shook his head, pointing at the ground. It was obvious that he wasn't going to take them any further. John produced money and the captain looked slightly uncertain, then he shook his head again.

"What's he saying?" Nancy asked.

"He says he only agreed to take us this far and he doesn't like what's going on," Roger said hastily. "He says it's too dangerous. He thinks we'd jolly well better pay up, or clear out."

John was obviously speaking more eloquently now, or perhaps it was the money he was shoving into the man's hands. At last they seemed to come to an agreement and John handed over more money in bank notes.

"That's showing him," Roger said admiringly. "Good thing you had all that on you."

"I'd just got my pay," John said with a grin.

The captain signalled his son and the two of them stalked off into the night, leaving the dhow beached on the muddy bank, her nose among the reeds.

"Welcome aboard," John said. "I just bought her."

They pushed her off and hoisted her sail, the halyard blocks creaking ominously as the yard crept up. The sail swung restlessly in the slight wind, the luff flapping, then John had the tiller and was letting out the sheet. Gently, the dhow heeled over and Nancy relaxed as she heard the soft ripple of water at her forefoot. Gibber swung off Roger's shoulder and scampered up the mast, clinging at the head to look down at them and chatter.

The dark palms that lined the river slipped by silently, slowly blotting out the shadowed buildings of the town they had just escaped. The moon seemed to be running on before them, an elusive silver bauble suspended on the clear darkness of the star scattered sky.

~o*o~

"Machine guns in... _violin_ cases?" Roger said, very slowly after John and Nancy had finished telling their part of the tale. "Are you sure you didn't get hit on the head?"

John ignored him.

"I'm so glad we're all together again," Peggy said.

They all were.

"Are we going back to Alexandria?" Nancy asked at last.

John was silent. He had been mulling the idea over in his mind for some time now and had subconsciously set their course south. "I really think we ought to go south, to Cairo," he said at last. "If we try to go north, we might lose our way with all the little off-shoots of the Nile, but going south we can't go wrong. There's the British consulate in Cairo."

"I think he's right," Roger said. "And those chaps who had you will be expecting us to try north."

"I'm not arguing," Nancy said. "South it is, skipper."

Peggy said nothing, but felt, as she always had in the past, that they would probably know best and after thinking it over herself, she felt they were right. She had always trusted John's judgement.

It was very early summer and the Nile was high. The moonlight painted a glittering path across the water and no matter how hard they tried to reach it they never did. The palms were stark shadows, rising out of the flooded river like strange people. John watched the banks carefully; it wasn't like going to sea with unexpected winds; he and Roger had sailed from Alexandria to Malta only the fall before and had run into an unexpected storm. Here, they might run ashore, especially since the spring floods, the banks were only soft mud, but nothing much worse could happen.

There were other dangers that bothered him more, the smugglers, of course, but also the wildlife that teamed these shores. Hippopotamuses were both extremely powerful and short sighted and they could easily capsize or hole a boat. Crocodiles were not so large, but they were more cunning.

"Jib booms and bobstays!" Nancy exclaimed suddenly, more for their benefit than hers. John glanced down to where she sat on the bottom boards, working the handcuff around and around on her wrist. Even in the moonlight, he could see that she had rubbed her knuckles raw and bloody.

"Don't hurt yourself," he said quickly. "We can get it off some other way."

"I almost have it," she said violently and the next moment it came off. She flexed her fingers, wincing. "John," she said at last. "I like you very much, but being chained to you for hours is unsettling."

"That would be difficult," Roger mused from the bows. "He snores."

"No, I don't!" John exclaimed.

Peggy wrapped Nancy's hand up in her handkerchief, secretly wishing that she had a first aid kit. She felt slightly Susanish and felt better, Susan always knew what to do.

"Shall we set up watches, skipper?" Nancy asked. "Giminy, It will be just like old times."

_Like old times_, John thought with a grin. _Only this time it's for real. _

Gradually Roger stopped talking, Peggy had never started and Nancy fell sideways, wedged between the bulwarks and a pile of netting at John's feet. John barely noticed them; all was well with his ship and they were trusting him with it. He was worried about whether they had hoisted the sail properly, but he had been pretty sure, even in the dark, that it had been done properly. He had been aboard these boats enough the past few years to know how the rigging was.

His mind was racing ahead to Cairo. They would find the consulate and report what was happening and he would turn himself over to the authorities. He settled this in his mind, then focused on sailing a straight course and not running aground in the moonlight.


	14. The Nile

July 16, 1936. Morning Watch 0445

* * *

The Nile

* * *

_How doth the little crocodile _

_ Improve his shining tail, _

_And pour the waters of the Nile _

_On every golden scale!_

~Robert Lewis Stevenson

* * *

Nancy was the first to wake with an indefinite guilty feeling nagging at the back of her consciousness. Above her, the sky was turning pearly and pale and the eastern horizon was aglow, as if some great painter had dipped a soft brush in gold dust and dabbed it on the canvas of the sky. It took her a moment to sort out why she was laying on the bottom boards of a boat, looking up as the mast painted circles on the marbled sky and the patched sail stretched out to starboard, bellying with wind.

She was aboard Amazon, she thought, Peggy must be steering, but why was the sail patched? She had an indefinite feeling that they were sailing to Wild Cat to meet the Swallows. Then she jerked awake, the Swallows had not come up for summer holls in an age... and why was there a monkey's silhouette clinging to the masthead? Then she remembered and slowly sat up.

"Have a good sleep?"

She glanced up to see John at the tiller, holding it gently as he might a feather.

"Have you been awake all night?" she exclaimed, sitting up. "I'm awfully sorry!"

"No," John said. "It's all right. Roger took over for a bit."

Nancy's left hand had stiffened up until she could barely bend it. But she offered to steer and John gratefully gave her the tiller. It was good to sail again, she felt a strange sense of belonging as she felt the pull of the tiller and listened with half an ear to the gurgling of the wake and felt the whole dhow quivering with life beneath her.

The sun was touching the flooded Nile. The river was considerably wider than she remembered it last night. The palms stood up to their wastes in the water and water buffalos were standing at the bank, watching them go by with a look up awe on their faces. Nancy shivered with unbridled excitement; they were in Egypt, the land of dreams. It seemed somehow uncanny that along these banks ancient ships had sailed, steered by hands that were long dead. Temples and great cities had once risen around them, now only fragments remained. It was a land so prosperous and powerful that their Pharaohs could be laid to rest in coffins of solid gold in the hearts of pyramids made of stones that weighed a ton and a half each.

"Do you remember the streams in Secret Water that were flooded at high tide?" John asked at last.

"How could I forget?" Nancy asked.

"I'm afraid we'll run aground, like we did then," John said. "The river is so high now, but I've been keeping to where I can see the current and hoping for the best."

"It's a pity it's so muddy," Nancy said. "But I suppose that's what makes the delta green. Have we even reached the main river yet?"

"I don't think so," John said.

"Look at the heron." Nancy said. "Isn't it beautiful?"

"Not bad."

The heron was standing in the shallows, stepping carefully between lotus flowers that bobbed on the murky surface of the water. It was a noble bird with sword-like beak, an arching, rust-coloured neck and cravat of white feathers. Nancy's first thought was of Dick.

"Did you know that the D's are in Egypt?" she asked.

"They're in Thebes," John said. "Excavating corpses."

"Have you seen them?"

"Last fall." John said. "Dorothea's cut her hair."

"Never!"

"I do not jest."

"And Dick?"

"He's gotten taller."

"Oh, how very surprising." Nancy laughed.

There was silence again as Nancy watched the sail, trimming it slightly until the luff ceased to shiver.

"Will they really Court Marshal you?" she asked at last.

"Of course they will," John said. "If anything ruffles the delicate workings of the Navy it's looked into at once and analyzed. I'm afraid it's unavoidable."

She glanced at him where he sat on the bottom boards, staring into the face of his watch. It a navigator's watch, the remarkably accurate ones that aviators always wore, marked out in military time, the sweep second hand rushing hurriedly on. For a moment, she wished she knew what he was thinking... why had he changed so much? Was the old John still there somewhere?

But she couldn't ask, the others were waking up.

"Good morning," Peggy said, stretching and Roger gave his best early morning yawn from the bows.

"Anyone else starving?" Roger asked at once.

There was a small store of food aboard and Roger presently divvied it out; there was flat bread, water in an earthen jar and dried fruit mainly consisting of apricots, dates and figs. Nancy realized that she hadn't eaten since yesterday noon and she was starving.

Roger, fortunately, had a packet of nuts for Gibber and he coaxed the monkey down from the masthead for breakfast.

"Just keep him away from our food," John said. "It's all we've got."

"I hope we don't get food poisoning," Peggy said morosely.

As the sun rose, they started to enjoy their journey. They saw a hippopotamus grazing on the bank of the river and several gazelles that were drinking snorted when they saw them and danced away, sending up a flock birds, their wings throbbing in the air. The sky was cloudless and impossibly blue above the acacia trees and rushes that lined the muddy water of the Nile.

It was mid morning when they saw a crocodile swimming next to the dhow, golden water flashing over golden scales, just its eyes above the water. Peggy seized the camera and snapped a picture of it, but they were less intrigued when it struck the hull a heavy blow with its tail.

Roger worked an oar loose from under the middle thwart and cracked it over the head with it. The crocodile soon grew discouraged and swam further afield in search of easier prey.

"Friendly chap, that," Roger said with a grin.

"Good riddance," Peggy said.

"Hi! Stop him!" Roger exclaimed. Gibber had picked up the camera where Peggy had put it down and had somehow figured out how to fold out the collapsible lens. They dove for him, but John protested that they were rocking the boat. Gibber finally lost interest in the camera and put it down, but by then, the others were interested in something else.

Ahead of them, their branch of the river joined with another larger one, more blue than brown and John, who was steering again, was at a loss which way was the main channel for all the trees standing in the river. He hauled in the main sheet and gave an acacia tree a wide berth, heading towards the deeper water of the other channel.

That was when they ran aground.

"Sorry, my fault," John said as they felt a soft scrunch under the keel. He let go of the main sheet at once, letting the sail flap listlessly in the wind. "We'll get her off in a jiffy."

Roger prodded over the side with an oar and felt it sink into sucking mud. He pulled it up again, black and dripping. John reached for the other oar and pushed off the port side. He expected her to slide off, but she seemed to be firmly stuck.

There was silence now that she was still, but for the strange calls of birds in the distance and Nancy looked to the stern, over brown water to where the river bent behind the acacia trees. There was another sound, a very low one.

"Do you hear that?" Nancy asked quickly, touching Peggy's arm. Peggy listened, straining to hear.

"I think it's an engine," Peggy said. "It could be anyone."

"It's a _steam_ engine," Nancy corrected.

John paused and stared astern, then redoubled his efforts with the oar. They rocked the dhow, trying to get her off, but the more they tried, the more firmly she was stuck. There was water all around them and the crocodile was gradually circling closer, barely making a ripple in the murky water.

"If it's not them, we can ask for a tow," Roger pointed out the bright side as Gibber scaled him to sit on his shoulder.

"And if it is them we'll get a tow whether we want it or not," John said.

"Hang it all!" Nancy exclaimed. "I wish I had a gun!"

Roger and John pushed at the oars and Nancy and Peggy tallied on, trying with every fibre to get her free. It seemed to frantic minds that she was sliding loose, but in reality she was only mired deeper. The crocodile seemed to mock them with his lidless golden eyes, watching their efforts with disdain.

"Why are we the only ones on this river?" Peggy cried.

There was a thin tendril of smoke in the distance and they knew there was a house beyond the trees. They could see rows of carefully cultivated barley stretching on the banks of the river; it was emerald green, beautiful, grown just that way for thousands of years.

"We'll keep trying," John said, panting as he pushed the oar in again.

* * *

Malta was a city chiselled into the rock. Her ancient white buildings rose above white stone streets. It was here that the apostle Paul, like Odysseus, had been washed ashore during his many journeys. It was like a white pebble adrift in the great blue expanse of the sea, a veritable life raft less than a hundred miles from the shores of Sicily. For centuries her great natural harbour had formed a haven for ships and now, more recently, was a fuelling stop for seaplanes carrying passengers from Marseille to Tripoli.

Malta really was like no other place on earth. Titty had been everywhere from Sydney to Istanbul, but she loved the narrow cobbled streets and wrought iron balconies, the vivid flowers and the bright painted doors. In Alexandria the paint seemed to be chipping, but here in Malta it seemed always bright and fresh.

All spring she had spent walking over the city with her easel and paints, setting up somewhere in a quiet corner where no one would bother her and painting until the sun reminded her that it was time to go home. Bridget often came with her, with more interest in looking in the shops than painting, though she did grumblingly consent to posing when Titty wanted someone playing with the water from a fountain, or looking down into the Grand Harbour at the fishing boats riding at anchor.

"Shouldn't we be going home?" Bridget asked at last. "It's almost lunch time."

Titty jumped and realized that her paint brush was shaking in her hand. She was painting a doorway with green door set in crumbling plaster with an ornate screen above the door frame. The door was open slightly and an orange cat had somehow found its way to the patch of sunlight on the marble doorstep.

People had been in and out of that door all day; the baker's boy had come whistling by with his loaf under his arm and an onion seller had gone by on his bicycle. The lady of the house had gone out shopping (she had come back with paper sacks full of lettuces and tomatoes), a little boy had come out of it to play ball and Bridget had gone in it and come out with a pastry for Titty and a story to tell about something Titty had forgotten.

"Yes, I suppose we should," Titty said, getting a hold of herself. "I'm about done anyway."

Bridget came around Titty to look at the picture. She nodded once, which meant that it was good and folded up the easel to carry it away. Titty followed more slowly, lost in the sunlight that played golden over white plaster and red nasturtiums and ivy growing over rusting iron balconies. She had become a fixture there and people nodded to her when she went by, they all somehow knew her name and would say it, breaking her out of her reverie.

"Oh, do come on!" Bridget said, taking her sister by the hand to make her come along faster.

"I'm coming!" Titty said with a laugh.

Mrs. Walker had rented rooms on a sunny little street overlooking the Grand Harbour and the white fort standing guard at the entrance. She liked to see when the Second Destroyer Flotilla came into harbour and dropped their anchors, swinging in the tide with the fishing boats.

The rows of houses were a little like the ones in parts of London, only not made of brick, but white plastered with their own quant flare; they were very old, sometimes dating back two hundred years. Bridget opened the door of their own house and went into the narrow entry hall with a carpet over the wood floor and an old rickety staircase going upstairs. She stowed the easel in the corner and bounded up the stairs two at a time to burst into the upstairs sitting room where the sunlight pooled on the floor.

Polly, Titty's green parrot, greeted her with a joyful screech from the corner where his brass cage hung and Andrew was sitting on the floor, playing with blocks. He was only four, but he was a very serious little man, very much the way John had been at his age. When Titty came through the door, Bridget was down on the floor, helping him build a tower.

"It's the Pharos in Alexandria," Bridget was explaining.

"That's where John is," Andrew said, looking up with gray eyes. "Do you think he's sailing right now?"

"Oh, probably," Titty said, kneeling down. "Nobody can stop John from sailing. He's probably rented a dhow and is sailing around the harbour, thinking about us."

"Pieces of eight," Polly exclaimed, eager to be noticed and given a treat.

"I want to go sailing again," Andrew said.

"I'll take you," Titty said. "Maybe tomorrow... Mother could come too and we could have a picnic."

"Could we?" Andrew asked.

"I'll ask," Titty said.

"Can I be ship's boy?"

"Wouldn't you rather be ship's baby?" Titty asked.

Andrew shook his head.

The door to the next room was half open and Titty heard the sound of a telephone being hung up.

"We're home, mother!" Titty called. There were quick steps on the floor and the next moment the door opened and Mrs. Walker slipped into the room. Titty knew at once that something was wrong.

"What happened?" Titty asked and for a moment, a hand of fear clutched at her heart. In the recesses of her mind, she was always half expecting to hear that war had broken out in Europe.

"Daddy just phoned me," Mrs. Walker sat down on the sofa, pushing Sinbad aside. The cat stood up, insulted and jumped down onto the floor to rub, purring, against Titty's leg.

"Is he all right?"

"Yes, he's perfectly all right, he's in Jaffa." Mrs. Walker looked up. "Did you know that the Blackett girls are in Alexandria?"

"No, I didn't!" Titty sat down next to her mother. "When did they come?"

"I don't know," Mrs. Walker said. "What matters is that they don't seem to be there anymore. John, Roger, Nancy and Peggy all vanished yesterday and haven't turned up."

"What?" Titty said.

"I don't know any more than that," Mrs. Walker said. "They said they were going to the Souq in the old part of Alexandria. The Navy is investigating, they've been over the city and haven't found them."

Titty stared at her, then shook herself. "I'm sure they're perfectly all right."

"But it's not like John to go absent without leave." Mrs. Walker said, standing up. She walked to the window and brushed the lace of the curtain aside. The harbour was very blue under the sun and she could see the lean profile of a destroyer anchored further out.

"I'm sure he has a very good reason." Titty said, scooping Sinbad up.

"I'm sure he does too," Mrs. Walker said, turning to face her. "I'm going to have to put a long distance call through to Beckfoot."

"Should we tell them?" Titty asked. "I'm sure it's nothing and we needn't alarm them."

"Your father thinks we should." A flicker of worry passed over Mrs. Walker's face. "He was being calm and nonchalant, but I think he's concerned. I'm going to phone Susan... she'll know what to say."

"Shiver my timbers!" Polly sang out in a very Nancyish manner and they all looked at him, strangely disconcerted to hear her voice ringing out of the corner.

"I'm sure they're all right," Titty said fiercely. "They _must_ be all right!"


	15. The Dragon

July 16, 1936. Forenoon Watch 0900

* * *

The Dragon

* * *

_Cowards die many times before their deaths _

_The valiant never taste of death but once. _

~ William Shakespeare

* * *

"I'm sorry, this is my fault," John gave up at last, tucking the oar away under the main thwart.

"It jolly well isn't," Nancy said vehemently.

"I could go over the side and try to push her off," John suggested.

"No, you won't," Nancy said sharply. "I'd rather get captured again than watch you get eaten up by that crocodile."

Then the launch turned a corner of the river and they could all see it, puffing resolutely towards them, a gentle wake eddying in the brown water. The white steam was stark against the sky and they could see, under the canopy, the pile of violin cases, a few wooden crates and the figure of Lester White.

The launch probably dated from the turn of the century, or even earlier, Roger speculated as it came nearer. With a bit of work, he thought, it could be turned into a regular piece of art. As it was, it wasn't much to look at... except perhaps the engine.

John watched it in desperation for a few moments, then turned. Nancy watched him incredulously as he lowered the mainsail, tying the halyard off to a cleat with a turn of his wrist so the yard just rested on the boom. He rummaged around in his pocket until he found a tangle of string and he broke off lengths to tie the sail down to the boom.

Then Nancy understood what he was doing. There was no more John could do, so at least he could tidy the dhow before they had to leave it.

Lester White was standing in the bow, watching him. They were close enough, now, to see that he had no expression on his face. The Boss was standing some ways back; a gun in his hand, John recognized the black object on the muzzle as a silencer. A young Egyptian man was standing amidships, watching the pressure gauges on the large steam engine that sat under the canopy, puffing noisily away.

The launch slid alongside the dhow and the explorers stood watching it with silent and angry faces. There was no doubt what the gun meant in the Boss' hand.

"Throw us a line and we'll pull you off," Lester White said quietly.

Silently, John coiled the painter and tossed it to him and presently the dhow was floating free.

"Now," Lester White said. "Will you come aboard?"

"You wouldn't really shoot us, would you?" Peggy burst out.

Nancy was silent. She wished she could keelhaul him. She'd keelhaul him on the Hood. It was a long way under the Hood's massive red painted double bottom, rivets the whole way.

"Do you want to speculate?"

John went first, stepping carefully over the side into the launch, then giving a hand to the others as they followed.

"Turn around," Lester White said and methodically he tied their hands in front of them. Nancy gasped when the ropes tightened around her damaged wrist and he immediately loosened them. Lester White hesitated when he saw the handcuffs that dangled from John's wrists, then took a key off his watch chain and unlocked them.

Peggy was next, then Roger and Lester White couldn't help smiling as Gibber, his wizened, little face serious, held out his own tiny wrists the way Roger did."Neat monkey. Now, if you would be so kind as to sit in the stern?"

They walked past the Boss silently, not looking at the gun. John saw enough of it to determine that it was a Mauser C96, the same kind that Sir Winston Spencer-Churchill was supposed to have used in the Boer War. A dated model indeed.

Roger couldn't help pausing for a moment as they passed the steam engine, to stare at the tarnished brass gauges and listen with eager ears to the soft hissing of steam. "Pretty nice," he said admiringly before John urged him on. The Egyptian lad flashed him a quick smile.

They sat down, Roger and John on one side, facing Nancy and Peggy on the other. Roger was still watching with keen interest as the Egyptian lad shifted some levers and the launch started slowly forward again, towing the dhow.

The lad stood, watching the gauges, then looking around the tall engine at the two who were standing in the bow talking, turned to glance at Roger.

"You like engines?" his voice was low and careful.

"Rath_er_," Roger said, matching his tone.

"I like them too," the boy said with another smile. "I hope to go to school in England. I work so I can go to school," it seemed almost as if he were apologizing.

"I'm going to join the RAF," Roger said promptly. "Plenty of engines to go around there."

"You're going to join the RAF, Roger?" Nancy said. "I thought it was the Navy-"

She was suddenly silent as Lester White stepped around the engine and knelt down next to them.

"Your untimely escape last night nearly turned things on their ear," he said quietly. "But I have come to an agreement with my friend. You will be released after our trip is over. I hope this is acceptable."

"Just as long as we're still in one piece when it's done," John said.

"Believe me," Lester White said. "I give my word. But I must know, have you contacted anyone since you escaped?"

"Oh yes, we sent a telegram from the nearest crocodile," Nancy said scathingly. "How could we have?"

"Does anyone know where you are?" Lester White asked, ignoring her. "Where did these two come from?"

"We followed while the trail was still hot," Roger said. "It's stone cold now."

Lester White seemed satisfied.

"Where are you taking us?" John asked.

"That I won't tell you," Lester White said. "You seem altogether too good at disappearing."

They had reached the Nile and it stretched wide between the banks of the river, blue as the sky above them. They tried to talk as the launch puffed along and the wake gurgled behind them, but it was a losing cause and they all knew it. John kept looking astern at that dhow that churned along behind them, wishing that they were sailing, not chugging along down the middle of the river in the launch.

Roger, on the other hand, was talking to the Egyptian lad, who, he found out, was named Baraka. He was older than they thought and had a pilot's license. They talked for a long time, Baraka demonstrating how to run a steam engine.

"Traitor," Nancy whispered. Roger's ears went pink, but he pretended not to hear her.

~o*o~

John was the first to see Cairo in the haze in front of them. They saw the bridges across the river, the minarets of the mosques, the towering buildings. It was older and newer than Alexandria all at once.

"How far away are the pyramids?" Peggy asked.

"They're about five miles outside the city," John said. "We won't be seeing them."

"Unless our kind hosts decide to take a detour," Nancy muttered.

"You'll see them," John said. "Sometime."

They never actually reached Cairo. The launch slowly lost way and slid next to a dock that jutted out into the Nile. Lester White jumped ashore with the painter and Roger, the expert on that sort of thing, watched critically.

"What's happening now?" Peggy asked.

No one answered.

The Boss gestured them ashore with the gun and they saw that a battered lorry was parked waiting for them up the bank. They stood next to it, watching while Lester White, the driver of the lorry and Baraka unloaded the violin cases from the launch and piled them in the bed of the lorry. They were ordered to follow and climbed into the bed themselves, sitting on the shifting pile of violin cases, the Boss still brandishing his gun.

The lorry roared into life.

Nancy leaned against the side of the lorry, trying to keep her balance as it roared up the embankment. Baraka was sitting just behind her and she couldn't help wondering if he had a gun concealed somewhere. _Of course he did_, she thought.

The lorry careened through the outskirts of the city. There didn't seem to be any speed limits and on straight stretches, the driver gunned the engine, shooting down narrow alleys between medieval buildings at an impossible speed. Nancy watched a row of palm trees fly past, feeling almost as if she'd seen them all her life. They narrowly avoided a camel and there was sometime stopped while their driver exchanged yells with a mule driver who couldn't get his beast to move.

At last they were continuing on again. The thing that struck them the most was the heat. It was much, much warmer here than it was in Alexandria and the sky was a different colour. In the distance there was a golden haze and the minarets of the mosques seemed tinged red in the atmosphere.

Presently, they left the city behind and were motoring along a straight road past a row of palm trees.

"Where do you think we're going?" Peggy whispered to John who was next to her.

John shrugged and watched the sun burn on the gun in the Boss' hand. Beyond him, the back windshield of the lorry was splattered with mud, but he could still see Nancy's face reflected there. She looked... strangely calm... and he wondered if he looked remotely as self assured as she did. She caught his reflected gaze and he gave her a lopsided smile.

They rounded a windblown building and were suddenly driving out across tarmac. Roger started up at the sight of a row of small aeroplanes parked some distance away, the sun flashing on their aluminium wings.

"This is Almaza Airport!" he exclaimed. "Brian and I fly in and out of here all the time. Where are we _going?_"

The lorry screeched to a halt next to a twin engine biplane parked by itself on the tarmac. The refuelling lorry was just pulling away and they could smell gasoline in the air.

"It's a Dragon!" Roger said to nobody in particular. John raised an eyebrow.

"A De Havilland Dragon." Roger corrected.

The door of the lorry slammed shut as Lester White jumped out of the cab and came around to the back to watch while Baraka and the Boss climbed down.

"O.K.," Lester White said. "Hop down and get in."

He didn't have to mention the gun.

The climbed down, one by one, trying not to trip over violin cases or lose their balance with their hands tied. It seemed unspeakably absurd to Nancy that they were here in Cairo, a civilized city, at an airport with people within shouting distance and they were about to be taken away to who knows where. Absurd... but definitely riveting all the same.

The De Havilland Dragon was not a particularly large plane and they found the door an awkward shape as they clambered up on the lower wing. John bent down and looked into the musty, metal smelling interior, if there had been seats, they weren't there anymore. The cockpit was half closed off from the fuselage and there was a row of windows on both sides. John sat down on the metal floor and Nancy, who was climbed in after, sat next to him, with an irrepressible feeling of excitement.

"What are you smiling about?" John asked.

"Nothing," she said, shaking her head. "But I can't help thinking that if we have to be in danger we might as well enjoy it."

Peggy and Roger came next, Roger stopping for a moment to take stock of the cockpit before sitting down, their feet in a jumble in the middle. It had a yoke, Roger had seen in his glance... he'd only flown with a stick and he longed to know how different it was.

The violin cases were handed in next, Lester stacking them in the tail. Baraka climbed into the cockpit and Roger leaned forward, watching while he primed the engines and pushed the starter. With a whine, the starboard engine slowly started to turn, then the port and they both roared into life.

Boss slammed the door of the fuselage and joined Lester in the tail.

"I suppose you deserve to know where we're going," Lester said as Baraka released the breaks and the Dragon started forward with a lurch, taxiing out onto the landing strip. "We're heading to Palestine."


	16. Out of the Land of Egypt

July 16, 1936. Forenoon Watch 1000

* * *

Out of the Land of Egypt

* * *

_Go down, Moses,_

_Way down in Egypt's land,_

_Tell old Pharaoh,_

_Let my people go._

~Spiritual

* * *

"Palestine!" John exclaimed. "That's two hundred miles away!"

"We should be there a little over two hours," Lester White replied, satisfied. The Dragon was airborne, the cabin no longer shuddering as they gained speed on the bumpy runway. They banked to port, circling, and they could see the tiny hangers below them and the aeroplanes lined up like moths. Cairo rose golden in the haze in the distance and they could just see the blue glitter of the Nile, snaking silently on its way.

"There they are!" Peggy gasped and Nancy scrambled up to follow Peggy's gaze. She could just see tiny triangular silhouettes before they were swallowed by the gilded air.

"The pyramids," she said quietly, as she sat down again.

John was silent, working and reworking the past events in his mind. He had at first thought that the guns were meant for the Egyptians. A treaty was in the works between England and Egypt requiring that England remove her troops and he had thought that the Egyptians might revolt in an attempt to pass it sooner, it would be the first time since Alexander the Great that Egypt would have a chance of becoming an independent country... but that idea was exploded. They were going to Palestine.

They looked out the window, watching the great, empty expanse of the Sinai stretch out below them, just sand and sky and more sand and sky. Half an hour after taking off, they passed over Suez and saw the narrow, glittering line of the canal, a great vessel inching along towards the tip of the Red Sea.

"Remember when we were Israelites and Egyptians?" Roger asked suddenly. "We crossed the Red Sea on dry land in the morning and were nearly drowned in the afternoon?"

Lester White stared at him, mystified.

"We've been all over the place," Peggy said. "In our minds."

Lester White did not seem enlightened by this statement.

"You're from Boston, then?" Nancy asked, turning to him. "In the state of... Massachusetts?"

"Bwaston," Lester White said. "If you're going to say it, you might as well pronounce it right. Yes, the birthplace of the revolution."

"Lexington and Concord?" Nancy asked with a grin.

"And the battle of Bunker Hill," Lester White added. "I grew up in New England. We always would go up to New Hampshire to the lakes district and spend summer vacation sailing on Lake Sunapee, staying in the grand hotel in the harbour and taking the steam boats down to Newbury so we could climb the mountain."

"Did you really?" Nancy exclaimed. "I didn't know there was a lakes district in New England! I live in _the_ lakes district in Lancashire... by Coniston water."

"Fancy that," Lester White said with a grin. "Do you ever go camping on the islands?"

"Did we ever!" Nancy laughed. "You've got islands too?"

"And lighthouses."

"Well, we don't have any of those," Nancy said with a laugh. "We have a river next to our house and charcoal burners in the woods."

"I'd like to tell you that we were always in danger of being scalped by Indians in New England," Lester White said. "But it wouldn't be true. We were more likely to scalp each other, I think. We have more wildlife, I think, then you. We always had to be worried about the bears and moose in the fall and there are mountain lions further north."

He talked on, of Franconia Notch, the Flume, the Old Man of the Mountains and the weird and wonderful mountains in New York, and Niagara Falls, crashing down hundreds of feet in a spray of spume and rainbows.

"Lake Champlain is supposed to have a monster," Lester White said. "I suppose like your Loch Ness."

"Every Loch in Scotland has a monster," Peggy said.

"It's hard to leave your childhood behind, isn't it?" Lester White said quietly. "When you're small, you're free to be whatever you want to be. You can be everything from a cowboy to a pioneer, or pretend to be a minute man shooting at a lobsterback from behind a haystack. My siblings and I played things when we were younger. I've been everyone from Jean Valjean to the Scarlet Pimpernel... it was all so real! But I suppose we all have to grow up."

"I don't think," Nancy said carefully, "that we ever really have to grow up, at least, not the way everyone thinks... I thought we did, once, but I rather think that we ought to just be ourselves and not try to be different." She paused, slightly muddled herself. The words sounded right, but were they true? People always seemed to change. "We end up learning how to act in public, but childhood is the sweetest, most beautiful time in our lives and I think anyone who forgets it is a sorry soul indeed. We do have to live in the real world, but we can still dream. I think too many people grow up; they become cold and emotionless and can't remember what they were like when they were little. I wonder if Hitler was ever a child? Maybe he was born old and cruel."

"That one?" Lester White said with a laugh. "I've heard he had a smothering mother."

The minutes dragged on and they grew hotter as they sat in the narrow cabin, half blinded by the sunlight that slanted through the rows of windows. Peggy sat facing forward, so her back was towards the Boss and his ever present gun. She remembered once, a long time ago when Roger told how he had held his wrists apart when he was being tied up and was able to get free. That story had stuck by her and she had tried it herself, with beating heart, when Lester White was tying their wrists.

Now she was working loose very carefully, so no one would notice. Keep them talking... she didn't know if getting free would do anybody any good, but it was worth a try.

"Where'd you get the monkey?" Lester White asked Roger.

"Their Uncle brought him from South America," Roger said. "His name is Gibber, by the way."

"Any chance of lunch?" Roger asked fifteen minutes later. He glanced up at Lester White, expecting some reaction and he saw the latter smile, but Roger's face changed as the Boss said something in Arabic and stood up, the gun gleaming coldly in his hand.

"Look out!" Roger cried, but his warning was too late. The butt of the gun connected with the back of Lester White's head and he crumpled.

They stared in horror at the Boss as he stood in the middle of the cabin, brandishing his gun. He was shouting in Arabic so he could be heard into the cockpit. Baraka yelled back.

Peggy had her hands free, but she was frozen in place. She knew that there was nothing that she could do; this turn of events seemed utterly absurd and she looked at Nancy, catching her terrified eyes. John said something in Arabic and the Boss swung around, the gun levelled at his head. Baraka yelled back again in a tone of voice that was nonnegotiable, Peggy only wished she knew what he was saying.

The next moment, Peggy ducked as the Boss came hurtling across the narrow cabin towards her. Lester White was up and tackled him low. The silencer was bouncing across the metal floor and the gun went off with a deafening bang, the bullet ricocheting around the cabin. Peggy choked on the smell of gun powder as the biplane lurched violently to starboard and Gibber, screaming at the top of his lungs, ricocheted around the cabin himself.

"He's hit!" Roger's voice cut the noise and everyone stared around, wondering what he meant. Lester White had the Boss in a headlock, trying to reach for the gun with the other hand. It went off twice more and glass shattered, letting in a blast of air. Peggy scrambled to her feet, vaguely wondering if it was Gibber Roger was talking about. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw that Nancy was on her feet, too, and had her hands free and with a quick motion, drove the heel of her hand into the Boss' jaw.

"Somebody untie me!" Roger bellowed, he was writhing around on the floor, trying desperately to get his hands free, Gibber was all over him. "I've got to take over! He can't hold on much longer! PEGGY!"

Peggy tripped, fell across his legs and struggled to sit up. Roger thrust his bound hands into her face and she fiddled with the knots, her hands shaking.

"I have a knife in my pocket!" Roger said. "Hurry! Hurry!"

She poked at the knots, they were coming loose, _Beast, beast!_ It was a granny knot. She swept Gibber out of the way again. There! She had it! Roger brushed the ropes away and leapt to his feet, struggling to keep his balance as the plane bucked and three people battled on the metal floor over John's kicking legs. He grabbed Peggy by the wrist and dragged her with him.

"You've got to help me," his voice was quieter.

Peggy looked around, wondering what he was talking about, then she saw him leaning into the cockpit, lifting Baraka's arm. She craned her neck to see and gasped when she saw blood soaking the Egyptian's shirt.

"Help me lift him," Roger gasped, straining to drag him from the seat.

"No!" Baraka said thickly.

"It's all right. I can fly," Roger said. "Come on."

Peggy seized Baraka by the other shoulder and together they dragged him out of the cockpit. Roger slipped into the seat; his feet found the pedals and he seized the yoke, glancing first at the artificial horizon, then the great stretch of blue and gold that circled all around him. Gently, he brought her nose up, bringing her level.

"Even out the weight back there!" he yelled.

The Boss finally ended the fight by diving into the side of the fuselage and knocking himself out; John had been able to trip him with a foot. Lester White saw a length of spare rope on the floor and picked it up, thinking to tie his hands.

"Let me have the rope!" Peggy said. "He needs a tourniquet."

Baraka was unconscious on the floor. She'd propped his feet up and now her hands were strangely steady and she tied the rope around his upper arm as tight as she could. Her hands slipped on blood and she remembered with a start that she was supposed to be squeamish. At the moment she didn't feel like fainting.

She sat back on her heels and looked up. They all stared at each other for some moments in shock, then Nancy remembered and slowly levelled the gun at Lester White.

"You're our prisoner, now," Nancy said, her voice steady.

Lester White shrugged, "Good thing one of you knows how to fly."

John sat up a bit more, trying to see around Gibber who was clinging to him, chattering distractedly. "Anyone going to bother untying my hands?"

* * *

**Author's Note:** All right, say it. That was corny.

On another note, there really are lakes in northern United States that look strikingly similar to the Lakes District. I was a little more than a little startled to find that out.

~Psyche


	17. Roger's Command

July 16, 1936. Afternoon Watch 1201

* * *

Roger's Command

* * *

_...High in the sunlit silence. Hov'ring there, _

_I've chased the shouting wind along, and flung _

_My eager craft through footless halls of air._

_Up, up the long, delirious, burning blue_

_I've topped the windswept heights with easy grace_

_Where never lark, or even eagle flew..._

~John Magee

* * *

"Where were you intending on landing?" John asked, carefully straightening out the map on his knees, his compass in one hand, a pencil in the other.

"Haifa," Lester White said, he was sitting down again, his hands tied.

"Are there any closer ones?" John said. "Never mind, there aren't. We have about twenty miles more to go before we reach the Negev."

"How did you get out of your ropes?" Nancy asked Peggy.

"I held my wrists apart," Peggy said. "You know, the way Roger did when we ambushed the Swallows in Secret Water. How did you?"

"I complained that my hand hurt- nothing so devious." Nancy said with a grin, she turned to Lester. "What was that all about? Why did he turn traitor?"

Lester White shrugged. "He wants the guns."

"What was he saying to Baraka?" Nancy asked.

"He was telling him to change course and land in Eilat. It's the tip of the Gulf of Aqaba ."

"What did Baraka say?" Nancy tapped the gun in the palm of her hand and John winced as he glanced up from his map.

"What's my heading?" Roger called.

"Hang on," John called back.

"He said he had been paid to do a job and he was going to finish it," Lester White said. "He said that nobody else could fly, so waving a gun around wouldn't do anyone any good."

"Good for him," Nancy said, looking down at the unconscious Baraka with new respect.

John was up on his feet, Gibber still hanging off his shoulder, and going forward to talk to Roger. Going forward? Subconsciously he had told himself that Roger was in the bows. He shook his head, laughing at himself as he leaned into the cockpit to tell Roger their new course.

"Yes navigator," Roger said and would have saluted if he hadn't had both hands on the yoke.

Peggy was watching Baraka, keeping track of his pulse. She'd been afraid that the bullet had hit an artery, there was so much blood, but she realized that there would be a lot more if that was the case. The bleeding had almost stopped now and she wondered if he had really needed the tourniquet at all.

"It's not bothering you?" Nancy knelt next to her.

"No," Peggy said with half a laugh. "I feel strangely well. Susan and I always planned to become nurses, but as I got older I never thought I could because I was so squeamish... maybe I can after all."

"You've got over lightning, too," Nancy said with a grin. "I'm proud of you."

"I'm a little proud of me, too," Peggy said, then put out a hand to hold Baraka down as he moved, groaning. "He's waking up. His pulse is much better than it was. He must have gone into shock. Is there any water we can give him?"

"There's some in that canteen," Lester White said, gesturing with his head. "There should be a tin cup hanging around somewhere."

Roger had taken some time to privately try out the controls. The biplane was a good deal easier to fly than he had expected. His knowledge was limited to a trainer from the Great War and though he had many hours of flying under his belt, this was a new and intimidating experience at nearly twice the speed he was used to.

He watched the desert slip away beneath him, sometimes rock outcroppings, then stretches of rippled sand. He could feel the happiness in the cabin behind them as he tried to follow the conversation over the sound of the engines. Everything was all right now, they were safe and he was infinitely glad that he had learned to fly. He looked over the instruments again, studying each one... clock, artificial horizon, speedometer, fuel gauge... fuel gauge.

"What kind of range does this thing have?" he called back into the cabin.

"About five hundred miles," Baraka was awake again, but his voice was too weak to carry.

"Five hundred miles!" John called.

Roger stared back at the gauge, then reached out and tapped it cautiously, his heart in his mouth. _There must be some mistake... something must have happened to it... it can't be working properly... but it must be working..._ The needle showed less than a quarter fuel capacity and dropping. He stared at it, then something drew his eyes out the starboard window again, to watch the vibrating wing. Then he saw something that made his blood run cold. Pale golden mist was enveloping the lower wing... _Gosh, oh gosh! _They were leaking fuel.

Roger saw now the bullet hole that had punctured the thin aluminium skin of the wing and remembered the bullets that had smashed the glass and no doubt had continued on, only to be stopped by the wing.

_Is this what it's going to feel like to get shot down?_

"John!" he called, hating how his voice shook.

John was there in a moment, leaning into the cockpit, "What is it?"

"We're leaking fuel." Roger gestured out the window and John looked.

"How many miles do you think we've got? If we can reach Tel Aviv, Daddy's said there is an air strip under construction. We might be able to land there." John glanced at the fuel gauge and his face grew still.

"We're flying on fumes, John," Roger said. "We're going to have to land well before we ever get to Tel Aviv."

"Can we reach the Negev...?" John said quietly. "There are a lot of Bedouins. The closer the better..."

"What shall I do?"

"Land somewhere," John said. "Look here, you can do it. I'll tell the others."

"There can't be any mistake," Roger said and he knew he was trying to stall.

John squeezed Roger's shoulder, then turned back into the cabin and knelt down to untie Lester White's hands.

"What are you _doing_?" Nancy exclaimed.

"Can I have the gun?" John asked, taking it from her hand.

"No, you can't! What's gotten into you?"

"Don't want it going off."John unclipped the ammunition and put it in his pocket, handing the gun back to her. "Roger has some bad news. We're almost out of fuel and we can't possibly make it to the nearest landing strip."

There was dead silence.

"What are we going to do?"

"Make a forced landing," John said, trying to sound more confident than he felt. Crash-landing in the desert wasn't known to be terribly successful and Roger had never flown an aeroplane as large or as powerful as this one before. The situation was about as promising as battling a dragon with a needle...

Roger was watching the land beneath him. He wished he knew more about it. He was afraid the landing gear would collapse, afraid landing in sand would have the same effect as landing on water... something like a summersault... and the landing gear was fixed, he couldn't even make a belly landing. There were mountains in the distance, flat-topped cliffs that seemed to hold up the sky. If he was going to land, it had to be here, where the land was flat... but those things that looked like pebbles from up here could be boulders the size of barrels.

_What should I do?_

Land... had to, the needle on the fuel gauge was bouncing on empty... well, that was a good thing, at least she wouldn't blow up when he set her down. Had to land soon, while he still could manoeuvre... the engines would be cutting in a moment.

"Are you ready?" Roger asked dully, when John put his head in the cockpit again.

"Whenever you are," John said quietly.

"There's a spot over there... it doesn't look too bouldery," Roger said. "Game?"

"Game."

Roger gritted his teeth, then remembered he had to relax. It was all course sand and gravel here, nothing like what sand dunes were made of and he knew sand dunes were notoriously shifty. He wiped the sweat from his face and banked to starboard, circling the section of ground he'd picked out. It looked worse on closer inspection, but he was committed now. If the lid of Pandora's Box had been jarred, it was now shattered altogether.

_Golly_, he thought, _They'll have to accept me in the RAF after this... provided I'm still alive._

He lined her up, let down the flaps and fastened his safely belt...

This was it.

~o*o~

"What... is it?" Molly stood in the doorway of the drawing room, staring at him as he slowly hung up the telephone.

Bob Blackett hesitated, looking at her. The morning sunlight was glowing on the wall, lighting a hand-coloured photograph of two little girls that hung over the telephone table. They both had fair hair and wore sailor dresses; the older sat up straight, her blue eyes sparkling as she smirked at the camera. The littler one wasn't looking into the lens... she was looking away, into the distance.

For one moment, he could almost imagine that they would speak to him... he longed that they would speak to him. Then he turned to Molly.

"That was Mrs. Walker..." he trailed off, not knowing how he would tell her.

"Oh," Molly exclaimed. "Is she in England?"

"No," Bob looked at her. "How would you like to go to Egypt?"

* * *

Author's Note: Sorry if this chapter is a little shorter than usual, but I couldn't bare not to have a cliff-hanger.

~Psyche

Guest1: I'm so glad to hear from you again. Thanks, as always, for your review. I forgot, did I mention Snockrigg?


	18. The Promised Land

July 16, 1936. Afternoon Watch 1223

* * *

The Promised Land

* * *

_Success is not measured by what you accomplish, but by the opposition you have encountered, and the courage with which you have maintained the struggle against overwhelming odds. _

~ Orison Swett Marden

* * *

The land came charging up at what seemed a terrible speed and Roger gritted his teeth and held the yoke steady. He considered that if he was over tarmac in a different aeroplane, this would be a perfect landing, but he wasn't, he was in a small passenger plane, trying to land in the middle of a desert in the middle of nowhere.

Nowhere.

Then the earthquake came, shuddering through the cockpit, boiling inside Roger as if it had been born there, crushing the world all around him. One moment the glass in the windscreen was glancing sunlight, then it had shattered. The world seemed blotted out and he could only feel his hands clutching the yoke for dear life... holding it steady, because he knew that if he let go of it now then they would all die.

In the cabin all hell broke loose in a surging flood of violin cases that swept everything before them. Nancy was thrown across the fuselage, colliding with John and ending in a heap against the partition behind the cockpit, her head spinning. A great wave seemed to be overwhelming her and as she pushed out a hand to stop it, something struck her arm a terrible blow.

Peggy had grabbed Gibber just before they crashed with a half formed idea that he would be killed if she didn't. She clung to him now, the monkey screeching as she slid across the floor; her eyes squeezed shut, feeling as if she was suspended in a great blender, being beaten to pieces by a whirling blade. She could hear the horrible throbbing; hear it vibrating every molecule in her body and she screamed out for it to stop.

Then it stopped, horribly, violently, the shock jolting through them like thunder and lighting. The engines wined, coughing in the heat, then Roger, feeling through a fog, found the switch and cut the power.

Then there was silence.

It felt like velvet; a soft, gentle, black velvet.

John was the first to try to sit up. He pushed aside violin cases and realized that Nancy was on top of him.

"Nancy?" His voice cracked and he tried to get a hold of it again. He took a deep breath. "Roger?!"

"Is that you, John?" Roger's voice sounded like it was coming from a mile away.

"Are you all right?"

"I'm not sure. I can't see."

"Hang on, I'm coming."

John stood up, picking up Nancy off the floor; she stared at him dully and he propped her against some violin cases and stumbled forward into the cockpit. Roger still had his hands on the yoke, sitting amid shattered glass. His face was covered with blood.

"It must have broken because of the strain on the glass," Roger was talking, just to make sure he was still alive. "I think I'm all right."

"Your face is all cut up," John said, unfastening the safety belt. He lifted Roger under the arms and hauled him out of the cockpit. Roger wiped blood out of his eyes and blinked at John.

"I say... _that_ was something..." he trailed off.

"You did it," John said quietly.

"I did, didn't I?" Roger said, the truth dawning on him, then his face changed. "I say! Where's Gibber?"

"I don't know. Let's dig out the others." John said, turning.

Peggy had gotten up, holding the shaking monkey with one arm. Roger gratefully took him and Peggy stumbled across the cabin to where Nancy was sitting, staring around dazedly, holding her arm.

"I think it's broken," she said calmly.

The violin cases shifted, sliding into the cockpit as Lester White surfaced, his face bruised as if he'd gotten in a bar fight. He had Baraka under the arms and was lifting him up. The Boss struggled to sit up, looking remarkably disgruntled.

"Let's get out," John said, fiddling with the door. At last he got it open and slid out onto the wing in the sunlight. The Dragon had run into a boulder and ground looped, it was a wonder that it hadn't flipped over. The nose was smashed in and the port landing gear strut had collapsed, the tire blown. John stared, vaguely wondering why they were still alive.

"Here, take his feet."

John looked up to see Lester White in the door, shoving Baraka at him. John seized his legs and together, they lifted him out, setting him in the shade under the wing.

"How are you feeling?" John asked him.

"Bad."

The Boss stalked out of the cabin and sat under the wing, glaring at them. John ignored him and climbed back up on the wing. Nancy was still sitting among the violin cases, cradling her arm. She was pale, but she smiled weakly at him.

"We can break up those packing cases," Peggy was saying. "And make a splint. Remember Peter Duck? We can do the same thing."

"Let's get you out," John said, kneeling down in front of her, "then the doctor can examine her patient in the sunlight."

She nodded and he lifted her out, handing her down to Lester White, then he turned to Peggy.

"Do you really think you can set her arm?"

"I think so," Peggy said, looking up at him, half eager, half worried. "It might be more complicated if the radius is broken too; the radius isn't attached at one end so it can circle around the ulna. But it's not an open fracture, so I think that its only the ulna and if we can immobilize it completely... well, I think we can."

She glanced at the packing cases already imaging how she would break them up to make a splint, a little surprised at her own knowledge, then she grinned at him. "Susan's not the only one who reads medical books."

John stooped to go through the door, then paused and looked back at Peggy, "We're in a bind and I'm not sure how to get us out of it."

"Don't put yourself out too much," Peggy said with half a smile. "We've been in binds before."

"Not like this..."

"Haven't we?" Peggy said. "We've all nearly drowned, or been buried in a hillside, or been burnt to a crisp. We've braved ruffians, squashy hats and blizzards... now we're crashed in a desert with various injuries. What's different? It's _us_ after all."

"I suppose it is."

"So snap out of it, commodore," Peggy said. "I'm quite certain that the combined forces of the Swallows and Amazons will come out on top just as we always have."

"You sound just like Nancy," John said with a slight smile.

"Maybe it's because that's what she would say if she was talking to you."

~o*o~

John split one of the packing cases, half surprised to see that it had not only ammunition, but grenades. Somebody was getting ready to fight a war.

They set Nancy's arm under the shade of the wing. Peggy tore up her slip to make bandages.

"We'll be able to see right through your dress," Nancy told her privately.

"I don't think this is really the time to be worrying about that," Peggy said with half a smile.

"Well, you can have mine, too," Nancy said.

Nancy had never fainted before in her life and this new, horrible feeling of helplessness was terrible. She was determined to be strong and not make a sound as Peggy felt her arm to see if the bones were aliened. Then came that horrible moment when John took her wrist and Lester White held her elbow and there came a grating as the bones slipped back into place.

"Good thing it wasn't her humerus cracked or she wouldn't be able to make jokes anymore," Roger commented, trying his best to distract her and calm Gibber at the same time.

"You'd better be glad that I still have my funny bone," Nancy said dryly.

That was when the darkness that had been creeping silently up behind her, pounced and smothered her.

When she woke, her arm was a white swathe of torn slip in a sling. The others were sitting around her, talking. She could hear John's voice, vibrating somewhere. Her eyes didn't want to open. There was so much light, burning through her eyelids. When she did open her eyes, she had to close them again for the brightness.

"We're seventy miles south of Jerusalem," John was saying above her and she heard the crinkling of paper. "Smack in the middle of the Negev. We're about forty miles from Beersheba, that's the nearest military garrison... the nearest habitation. We have about a gallon of water." He added, looking to where two canteens were lying on their sides under the wing.

"Not much," Lester White said quietly.

"Roger, what kind of coolant do the engines use?" John asked suddenly.

"Hate to disappoint you, but they're air cooled," Roger said sadly. "No hope there."

"Well," John said. "We'll do the best we can. We've got to start at once if we want to get out of here. We'll set our course for Beersheba."

"Yes sir," Lester White said seriously. "How shall we carry Baraka?"

"We'll make a stretcher," John said. "I think we can dismantle the wing struts and use those. Any tools hanging around, Roger?"

Their voices went away and a little while later, she heard the sounds of metal on metal as they dismantled the wings on the other side of the plane. Slowly, she sat up, breathing deeply as she felt the faintness coming on again.

"Are you sure you want to sit up?" Peggy asked worriedly.

"Of course I do," Nancy said sharply. "You heard John. We're going to have to start walking. I might as well get used to it."

"He said he'd carry you."

"Of all the turnip heads." Nancy had a stubborn chin and it jutted out a little more.

Nancy and Peggy sat under the wing, leaning against each other; Baraka was lying next to them. Peggy's fair hair had come loose and was drifting around her face and Nancy saw that her skin was discoloured with bruises. She imagined her own face looked the same way as she gazed out at the world before them. It was the first time Nancy really looked at their surroundings. They were in a valley, cliffs on two sides, lit with the brilliance of the sun and as far as they looked for miles there was not one plant or animal or other sign of life.

It looked like another planet; the red dirt and steep, jagged, flat-topped cliffs looked like something that would mark the face of Mars. The centre of the valley was paved with the trail where a river had once flowed and Nancy knew that in late winter, parts of the Negev could be transformed with flowers after the rains.

"It doesn't look like a good place for an afternoon walk," Nancy said quietly, at last breaking the silence.

"No," Peggy agreed.

The canteens of water sat next to them, army surplus from the Great War, the light glancing off their aluminium caps. Suddenly, such common place things looked more beautiful than gold. Nancy wondered how long they would last, already she felt like she could drink them both dry.

The stretcher was finally assembled out of a sheet of aluminium and the wing struts and Baraka was lifted on it, protesting the whole way.

"I can walk!"

"You're welcome to," Lester White said. "But we'll be bringing the stretcher along for when you can't anymore."

John had his compass out and was looking at it carefully, searching the cliff opposite for a memorable formation that would serve as a bearing. There were no helpful trees here or bits of heather growing on the slopes, it was all dead and one part of the cliff seemed identical to another.

"We'll bring one of the guns with us, and some ammunition," he said at last and Roger ducked back into the plane to collect one of the violin cases.

"We'll have to burn the plane," Lester White announced as Roger climbed down again, turning to John, daring him to argue.

"We don't have time," John said, folding his map and putting it in his coat. "We must start at once."

"We've got to burn the plane," Lester White said. "I won't take the chance of it falling into the hands of the Arabs."

"We haven't got time," John said. "Can you imagine how long it will take to start a fire?"

"Can you imagine what havoc the Arabs will wreak if those arms fall into their hands?"

"Or hands into arms," Roger mused privately to himself.

"Probably no less than if they fell into the hands of the Irgun," John said calmly.

"How did you know that?" Lester White exclaimed.

"I know there are several Jewish terrorist groups running around Palestine, but that is the largest," John said. "The Haganah, which I understand is the only legitimate military group in Palestine, is being armed and maintained by the British to fight the Arabs. So I concluded that you're in the Irgun."

"We're not a terrorist group," Lester White said shortly. "I'm from Boston, but my mother is a Jew and my father is Irish. Both sides of my family have been fighting for freedom for generations and we've been running into the ruddy English at every turn."

John stared at him.

"There's more at stake here, than you think!" Lester White burst out. "This is going to be a global war. One event in Europe might have dire effects down here. I'm sure you've heard of the work camps that Hitler has put in place in Germany for the unfit, the deformed and Jews."

"We've been hearing about those since 1933," John said.

"But we've been hearing more down here. He means to kill. Have you read Mien Kampf? He means to exterminate the Jews." Lester White exclaimed. "There's no wonder that they've been leaving Germany in masses, at least trying to. Neither your country nor mine will accept the numbers that have been flooding out. They have nowhere left to come but here, a land promised them by the British, and the Arabs resent their coming. The simple truth is, nobody wants the Jews; do you blame them for trying to fight for their lives? World War Two has already started; it started when the peace was signed in 1918. You might have all gone back to England and lived in peace, but down here the fighting never ended. You can blame English incompetence for that."

There was a moment of silence.

"I don't agree with everything you've said," John said at last, "But I won't stand for innocent people being bullied; that's why I joined the Navy. I won't pretend that England hasn't made mistakes, but the world has a lot to thank her for. Your country, I believe, was founded with ideas that originated in Britain and the Middle East can thank her for their modern buildings, train systems and schools. For now, whoever stands with her is my friend and who ever stands against her is my enemy."

"A bit old school, aren't you?" Lester White asked dryly.

John stared at him, "I'm in the Navy!"

"Look here," he added a moment later, "I don't believe your organization is any more legitimate than the IRA, but I think you have a point. I just wish you'd act like the Haganah and cooperate with us."

"The British aren't being any kinder to us than the Arabs are," Lester White said shortly.

"Colonist," Roger muttered.

"I'm half Irish and half Jewish, I can talk! I had a grandfather murdered by the British after the Easter Rising!"

"When found conspiring with the Germans-" John began.

"_Don't_ get started on that!" Roger exclaimed. "Stick to the point!"

"The point is," Lester White said slowly. "Jews are being murdered in Europe and now they're coming down and being murdered here too."

For some time Nancy had been listening, trying to form something her half-numbed brain. At last she spoke:

"Either side could do a great deal of damage. If we leave the guns unburnt, anybody might get a hold of them and whoever it is will use them, whether they are Jewish or Arabian. Anyway, you could have gotten a fire started in the time you've spent arguing."

"All right," John said. "We'll burn the plane."

~o*o~

There were a few dregs of gasoline in the fuel tanks, enough, John thought, to help get a fire started. It was sloshed over the violin cases in the cabin along with what oil Roger could drain from the engines.

The others fell back a good distance and Lester White pulled the pin in a grenade and pitched it into the open door of the plane with the precision of a baseball player.

There was a flash of light and a tremendous explosion as the grenade set off the other grenades and the ammunition, turning the cabin into a sea of flames in short order. The magnesium paint that covered the plane burned with a hard white flame and a great cloud of choking smoke spiralled into the blue sky.

"Maybe it will alert someone that we're here," John said half heartedly, but he knew that there was probably no one for miles.

The others were silent.

The plane had served as a sort of base for them, it might be crashed and partially dismantled, but it was still there, their only connection to civilisation. Now it was reducing to a pile of ash and boiling smoke and flames; soon it would be gone and they would be alone.

Alone in the desert.

They had all at some time or another read a survival story of somebody who crashed in the desert and was able to walk to safety and for sometime after, they would fantasise about it, but never, in their wildest imaginings had they felt how they felt now- empty, hot and hopeless.

"Well," John said, breaking the silence. "Let's start."

* * *

**Author's Note:** The description of the plane crash was based on a book written by a French aviator between the wars (1932?) and for the life of me I can't remember the name of the book or the man who wrote it. I have to say, I hate survival stories and can hardly believe I've found myself writing one. Believe it or not, I have not made everything go wrong that possibly could, because I deemed that story too long to write. ;)

My apologies for posting this chapter late; there was something I needed to add and I had been putting it off.

~Psyche


	19. Forsaken

July 16, 1936. Afternoon Watch 1318

* * *

Forsaken

* * *

_I had to live in the desert before I could understand the full value of grass in a green ditch._

~ Ella Maillart

* * *

It was strangely beautiful, that place. It had been there for so long, it had seen so much, that they felt suddenly small an insignificant as they climbed up the valley and looked up at the towering, layered cliffs and blue sky, brushed with cirrus clouds.

The Boss and Lester White carried Baraka on the stretcher, Roger followed with Gibber and the water and John had the machine gun and Nancy by the good elbow- she would not be carried. Peggy carried their purses and what food remained from what they had found in the dhow. At the moment, nobody was very hungry, but they couldn't stop thinking about the water Roger carried.

It was very silent there and alone and as they walked, they had a harder and harder time imagining that there was a world beyond this great, forgotten one. They passed the whitened bones of a camel, stretched out on the pale gravel as if in agony. They saw the stiff, wind bruised form of a stunted acacia tree, thorny and dry as the sand it grew from.

The mirages hovered just above the ground, glimmering like water, reflecting the ground beneath them, like shimmering, squashed mirrors. There was a surprising amount of life here; they saw the shinning scales of a sand coloured snake, slipping away and they saw a fennec fox looking up at them with bright eyes from its hole. They saw an ibex clinging to the cliff side, only to dart away. A wild camel watched them go by and they saw it swinging away to the north and they wondered, if they followed it, if they would find water.

"No," John said with finality. "We'll stick with our course."

Nancy was never sure whether it was the pain in her arm, or the horrible heat that made her see so many things. A fennec fox, the colour of the sand, one foreleg cocked could grow and expand until he had become a knight on a sand coloured horse, his visor down, his lance ready to engage a Saracen. In her mind's eye, she could _see_ King Richard and Saladin, their horses' flanks gleaming with sweat and sun as they rode at the head of their armies to meet on the field of battle.

She didn't know if the crusades were fought in the Negev, but she knew that men had died here. This place was the hot bed of the world, the Holy Land, the place where Christ died in agony and rose again, the axis around which the world seemed to revolve. For some, it was the Promised Land, a strip of desert on the banks of the Mediterranean; there were other, more desirable places in the world, but it was here that Jews seemed to be flooding in droves, chiselling out their lives from the rock and slowly, inexorably turning what had been, in some places, a forsaken waste for hundreds- no thousands of years- green again. Though hundreds of years had passed and new cultures and languages had been learned, the twelve tribes of Israel still remembered who they were.

Everyone seemed to want this burning strip of desert and she couldn't really understand why. In the halls of antiquity, David and Solomon had ruled here, then it had been taken in quick succession by Persians, Greeks, Romans, Egyptian Mamlukes, Turks... the English; shattering its borders and dispersing its people until there were more Jews scattered through the world then lived in the slender strip of land next to the sea.

She swayed and John had her arm.

"Are you all right?"

"No."

They stopped for a rest under an overhanging ledge, John carefully marking their place on the map. It seemed even hotter in the shade than it did in the sun and they sat and sweated, squinting into the haze to see the distant spiral of smoke where the plane still smouldered. Roger poured them each half a cup of water according to John's direction and they drank it, savouring every last warm drop.

"Don't," John said, catching Roger's arm when he saw him about to give Gibber part of his water. "You need it more than he does."

John was watching them closely. He was quite certain that if none of them had been injured they would be able to walk the forty miles to Beersheba in one day, but as it was, they were creeping along. John gave them two days to reach Beersheba, the water had to last that time and it had to be rationed as carefully as gold; that meant the seven of them had to make do with half a gallon today and half a gallon tomorrow. If they couldn't make the distance in that time then it was over. The truth was, they each needed a gallon a day, but he was asking them to manage on a cup. He wondered if any of the others realized just how dire their situation was. His only hope in that event was that they would meet Bedouins somewhere, somehow.

"It's the sort of place you'd expect to see Lawrence of Arabia popping up behind a bush," Roger commented.

"This is where the Great War was fought," John said.

"And where the next one will be waged," Lester White said. "There's a new war for every generation and a lot of them happen down here."

John stood, "Let's keep moving."

~o*o~

The land was changing. The hills were gentler here, with dry scrubby bushes growing up their sides and little clumps of dried grass that the ibexes were nibbling. The land was growing gradually flatter, seeming to touch the horizon on all sides, stretching away for miles.

They had stopped talking a long time ago; there was no longer anything to talk about. They walked and the sun scorched them and the ground seemed a dizzying blur all around them. Their lips were cracked and bleeding and their eyes were heavy after staring so long into the glare of the sun.

John set their course according to stunted acacia trees on the horizon and as soon as they reached one, he'd pick another. Five hours had passed and they'd walked about twenty miles. The sky was turning vivid; burning with vibrant light that danced across the darkening sky, then melting as a deep, red symphony of brilliant colours murmured in the west.

John was more or less carrying Nancy now, despite her protests. She could still walk, she said, her voice thick with pain. Peggy felt her forehead and the next time they stopped, John gave the order that they would all drink another half a cup of water, their last ration for the day. He gave Nancy his. She was too groggy to know.

"Do you really think we'll get anywhere?" Nancy asked as he half carried her, bringing up the rear of the procession. Roger had the compass now and was walking ahead, Gibber on his shoulder, the map under his arm as he set their course. He knew navigation nearly as well as John from his hours of flying.

"Why not?" John asked.

"You could go faster without us," Nancy said quietly.

"I don't walk very fast."

Nancy rolled her eyes. His white uniform had gone the colour of the sand and sometimes she forgot and thought he was in the army; in her fevered brain she imagined that they were trying to escape the Turks during the Great War, then she would remember and everything would fall back into place like sand coloured puzzle pieces adrift in blue water. Blue water... somehow water was all she could think of now.

John had a ribbon pinned to his uniform, but she couldn't make out the colours now that the sun was sliding away to the other side of the world.

"Is it for bravery?" she asked, poking at it. He was carrying her now and she hadn't noticed though her head lolled against his shoulder; in her mind she was still walking, she could see the Beckfoot promontory leading down to the lake, but the lake was smaller than it was supposed to be and the _Hood_ was at anchor in Houseboat Bay, the elephant flag flying from her fantail... she could just see Captain Flint sitting at the rail, smoking his pipe beneath the big guns.

"No," John panted. "It's for general service in the Mediterranean."

As the first stars stepped out across the sky, they stopped next to an outcropping of rock and sank down gratefully, looking up at sky, alive with the last flames of sunset. They sat for some time and John realized at last that there would be no getting them going again. They were exhausted. He didn't think he'd really known the meaning of the word before that day.

They heard the faint cry of jackals and John, summoning his last dregs of willpower, clambered to his feet.

"You stay here," John told them. "I'll go look for something we can burn."

Lester White stood up and followed him, with a half formed idea to help. He was ten years older than John, but it had not yet occurred to him to challenge him. John seemed to know what to do.

"Just think," Peggy said quietly as they sat, leaning against the rock. "This time yesterday we had too much water. Now we don't have enough."

Nancy was too tired to open her mouth and respond. She felt as though she couldn't move even if she wanted to, wincing at the ever present throbbing in her arm. She wished with all her heart that they were back in Alexandria sitting on the roof of the Hotel Cecil eating dinner, looking over the glittering city, not laying here in the darkness in the middle of the Negev.

Baraka was lying on his stretcher next to them. He had stopped saying anything and Peggy was worried about him. The Boss crouched in the sand beyond him, wrapped in his robes, sulking. Roger had the water canteens between his knees and his head sagged until his hair brushed them. Gibber was on his shoulder, his tail curled neatly around himself.

"I wonder what the G.A. is thinking," Peggy said, then a worse thought occurred to her. "I wonder if mother and father know... that would be terrible."

"They won't know, not yet," Nancy croaked and swallowed, trying to make her voice behave. Her eyelids were closing again... she only wanted to sleep and never, never wake again...

"Roger! Look out!" Peggy's shriek jolted Nancy suddenly awake and she saw the Boss make a dash towards Roger and the water. Roger came awake just in time to seize the canteens and stumble away. He was speaking Arabic, trying not to forget the words, but the meaning was mostly lost in Gibber's frantic chattering.

"I say! Don't be beastly!" Roger exclaimed when he couldn't think of anymore to say.

"Roger!" Nancy was staggering towards him. "Tell him I'll shoot him if he tries anything."

Nancy was holding the gun; surprisingly steady in her right hand. Roger spoke and the Boss spun around to face her. She might have been injured, but there was a look in her eyes that left him with no doubt that she would pull the trigger. Her chin jutted out and she stared him down; at the moment, she felt she could have stared down a lion.

"I won't miss," she said evenly, gesturing with the gun. He sat down again, carefully, watching her.

"He can sit over there and we'll sit over here," Nancy said, going back to sit with her back to the rocks.

The wood collecting party came back presently, each with some dry bushes. John stopped when he saw them and dropped the wood, instantly realizing what had happened. He fumbled in his pocket, taking the gun from Nancy to snap the ammunition back into it.

"You mean..." Roger began incredulously. "That thing wasn't loaded?"

John shook his head, too tired to say anything else. "We'll have to stand watch over the water."

They lit the pile of brush they had collected and as the orange flames circled up amid the thorny branches the night grew blacker around them. In the distance they could hear the chilling laughter of the jackals and it seemed to Nancy as her eyes closed that they were laughing at them.

Because they would soon be gnawing on their bones.

* * *

**Author's Note:** I'm sorry, I forgot to update again! From now on, I will be good. ;) As always, please review. I want to know what you think, be it good or bad.

~Psyche


	20. Sunrise

July 17, 1936. Middle Watch 0023

* * *

Sunrise

* * *

_Lost, yesterday, somewhere between sunrise and sunset, two golden hours, each set with sixty diamond minutes. No reward is offered for they are gone forever._

~ Horace Mann

* * *

Nancy didn't sleep as well as she thought she would. She couldn't really tell if she was asleep or awake as she lay half propped against a rock, her arm throbbing. John sat next to her, the canteens of water in front of him. She could see the gleam of moonlight on the black muzzle of the handgun.

She was back on water, _Amazon_ was dipping gently on the lake beneath her and she could see the path the moonlight lit between the reeds. They were up the Amazon River, in the shadows, watching the Swallows rowing past the boathouse to capture their ship. Peggy was next to her, trying to hold her breath as they crouched on the bottom boards.

"I think we've done them," Nancy whispered.

She woke again, shivering violently and somebody was tucking a blanket under her chin. She thought it was her mother, coming up to check on her while she had mumps. She could see the stars spangling the night sky through her eyelashes and in her mind's eye; she painted in snow covered trees all around her. The others would be at the Fram, she thought, planning treks across the arctic.

"What time is it?" she asked the darkness.

"Past midnight," It replied.

She opened her eyes then and tried to sit up, staring around herself at the dark rocks and the smouldering embers of the fire. Peggy was sleeping beside her and she saw Roger's shock of tousled hair, Baraka with two coats over him and Lester White a pale lump beyond him.

Nancy realized that she did not have a blanket over her; it was John's uniform coat, white for the tropics.

"This is your coat!" she said accusingly.

"I was getting too warm," John said, staring up at the stars.

"No you weren't," Nancy said. It had gotten very cool; the heat of day had all evaporated, chasing the sun over the horizon. She looked around again at everyone, then realized something was wrong. "Where's the Boss?"

"The who?"

"That's what I've been calling him."

"Oh," John stretched out an arm. "He left a while ago."

"Did you try to stop him?"

"No. He'll be back, don't worry."

Nancy slept again after that, her dreams strange and convoluted. She dreamed they were back in Alexandria and Admiral Huskisson was warning her about the city.

"You can never be too careful, especially not this day and age." He was laughing and she realized for the first time that his eyes were blue. "Fools rush in where angels fear to tread."

When Nancy woke again, the sky was the colour of tarnished silver, marbled with clouds over stars that were just taking their last bows. Her head was perfectly clear now and she sat up, looking around. John's head had fallen forward into his arms and everyone else seemed to be still asleep.

"Hullo, I say, are you awake?"

Roger had the canteen and was fiddling with the gun. His hair looked like he had run his hands through it backwards and there were dark circles under his eyes. Gibber sat on his shoulder, the similarities between their expressions uncanny.

"If you know I am awake then you needn't have asked," Nancy said grumpily. "Because if I'd been asleep you would have either woke me up, or I wouldn't have answered."

"Well, I'm glad you're awake, anyway," Roger said, satisfied. "It's beastly having no one to talk to."

"What time is it?" Nancy asked.

"Five-thirty last time I looked."

"Shouldn't we keep on before it gets hot again?" Nancy asked.

"John said I was to wake everyone at six." Roger said. "But now probably won't hurt."

He let out a whoop and everyone came awake with general groans and complaints. Peggy gave a prodigious yawn and sat up, immediately looking at Nancy.

"How are you feeling?"

"My timbers are shivering," Nancy said with a grin. "How about you?"

"Tired."

Roger handed out another half cup of water for everyone.

"Now that _he's_ gone, there's more to go around." Roger hinted, glancing at Gibber.

"We'll save it for later," John said. In the back of his mind he was afraid that he had miscalculated their distance- it was more than possible. He didn't have any accurate way to judge how fast they had walked the day before, he could only guess at it.

The land had changed. The cliffs had softened into small hillocks that seemed to roll forever in the distance like the undulations of a golden sea. They set out again, coming upon a wadi that more or less followed their route, all covered with tufts of dried grass and lined with low thorny bushes like the ones they had burned. The soft sand was marked with the prints of jackals and they saw how close they had come in the night.

John set their course for a lonely acacia tree on the horizon and they walked for it. Baraka no longer complained about being carried, he was first sweating, then seized by violent chills. Peggy walked beside him, able to do nothing but talk to him. Roger and Lester White had given him their coats in the night, but they did little to keep him warm.

Nancy walked next to John, watching the compass needle quiver. Her head was much clearer since sleeping and the bit of water had revived her. She talked and he listened and for a little while she felt the old companionship she remembered when they were both captains in England, in charge of the expeditions.

They watched the sun rise.

There was a line of gold stretching across the edge of the eastern horizon, like a hem of indigo silk dipped in gold dust, glowing like amber at the rim of the world. Then the edge of the sun stretched cool fingers over the horizon, and slowly rose, a glowing orb in a liquid sky that changed as quickly as the scales on a chameleon. First it was red, then purple, then it slowly faded to blue, sending glowing colours across the folds in the sand in the waddi and painting their shadows incredibly long to their left, as if giants walked with them in the desert.

It was something they always remembered ever after. Whenever they talked they never mentioned it, but they were all swept back to that silent morning in the cool, crystal clear air, watching the sun rise over that great, empty, untrodden expanse of the Negev. They felt as if they were special guests let in for a showing of a secret world that was first incredibly beautiful, but equally deadly.

_But aren't all beautiful things really deadly?_ Peggy thought as she watched the golden scales of a cobra trickle away behind a rock, flashing as if set with diamonds.

Then the sun burned away the faint clouds and the coolness of morning. It was a copper disk in the sky, gazing down on them mercilessly. The sand burned and the sky burned and it seemed that they were walking in a furnace that was trying to extract every last drop of liquid from their bodies.

The Boss materialized out of the golden mist of sand, staggering and worse for the wear. Silently John gave him his ration of water and they trudged on, the Boss carrying his end of Baraka's stretcher has he had before.

As Nancy staggered along, she saw the spires of a great city gleaming in the haze that was hovering over the ground; there were great golden domes, shimmering as if reflected in blue water, gilded and gleaming. She could see people, automobiles flashing and the rushing in her ears of a multitude. She could hear them talking and laughing as they seemed to go about their business with complete unconcern for the travellers that struggled towards them. Nancy wanted to both curse them and beg them for mercy, they would have water... that thing which she no longer dared mention by name.

But no one else talked about the city and she knew that she could no longer trust her senses, they were warped with fever. Her realizations grew murky after that, sometimes she thought she was walking, then she knew she was being carried. She remembered asking the time, but she didn't hear the answer, then she heard shouts and thought that she was dreaming again.

"Hi! Hi!" it was Roger, his voice sounding more like a croak than a shout. Then she heard Peggy shouting and Lester White and for a few seconds she thought that Baraka must have fainted and they were trying to revive him.

Then she saw long shadows, towering shadows that seemed to stretch from the horizon across the sky. They were camels; long and strange, swinging towards them, slowly solidifying in the haze. They were ridden by angels dressed in gold. Her companions were flickering around her, shouting, waving their arms.

But she knew she could not trust her senses.

* * *

**Author's Note:** I'm sorry, I forgot about this story again. ;) It's all complete on my hard drive, I just have to remember to stick on the next chapter. Posting two stories on two different fandoms has proven to be most inconvenient as I desperately try to keep the unanswered PMs in my in-box under 70.

I haven't actually read this story for quite a while, but if you have any suggestions, please feel free to offer them. As always, I hope you are enjoying it.

~Psyche


	21. The Law of the Desert

July 17, 1936. Afternoon Watch 1420

* * *

The Law of the Desert

* * *

_He who shares my bread and salt is not my enemy._

~ Bedouin Proverb

* * *

She couldn't get enough water. Clear, tasteless, beautiful water that seemed to flow into her veins. Arms closed around her and a face was buried in her shoulder and she knew it was Peggy by the bleached golden hair that was brushing her face. Peggy was crying, the tears pouring down her cheeks.

"It's all right, now," Nancy said.

She heard talking all around her. Arabic rang in the air and she saw tall, dark men in white flowing robes standing around them. The camels were sitting on the sand, gazing away into the merciless expanse of the desert.

"He says we're about eight miles from Beersheeba," Lester White said at last.

"We could have made it ourselves, then," John said and he sounded strangely pleased with this information.

Somebody picked Nancy up and she found herself seated on one of the camels, sitting almost crosslegged on the ornamental saddle. A Bedouin was behind her, a long whip in his hand; he called out and the camel suddenly lurched forward with a groan, laboriously rising to its feet. The ground swirled dizzyingly below her, seemingly a mile away as the camel swung around with a strange rolling gait. They set off, the camels pacing, two beautiful, long haired hunting dogs galloping after them.

It was the unspoken law of the desert.

These fierce, independent people might kill a member of another tribe who dared dip water from the wrong well, but when they looked down from their camels to see a group of dazed and dehydrated people trudging wearily northwards, they treated them as gently as babies.

Roger, from where he sat hanging nearly off the rump of one of the camels, behind his Bedouin, was almost beside himself. It didn't take any stretch of the imagination to put himself back two thousand years and imagine himself in a caravan going to the seaports in Palestine with a cargo of fine linen and spices. But he didn't have to imagine, it was exciting enough without that.

They came at last to the camp, pitched in a waddi, not far from a pile of stones that marked a well. The dogs came first to greet them, then the children, shouting questions. The tents were made of black goat's hair, felted and stretched between poles, the sides open to let in at least some ventilation. At a word from their drivers, the camels sank down in the sand, folding their long legs under them so their riders could dismount in comfort.

A few minutes later, they were sitting under the shade of one of the tents on striped blankets, a silver tray of a brilliantly polished tea pot and tall, silver bound glasses, sitting before them. The tea was strange, but it was damp and that was all that mattered. The patriarch poured the tea with great care and his wife brought a large basket of cous cous, freshly made. They couldn't eat it.

Nancy was lying on her side, trying to drink her tea, but her hand shook so much that it slopped over. The children stood around them, watching her with bright eyes and ducking away whenever she tried to look at them. Lester White talked and the patriarch nodded along, adding a word here and there.

"He says he has sent one of his sons to find the desert patrol," Lester White said at last, turning to them. "He says that if his sons had not had the good fortune to find us then the Notrim would have come across us."

"The Notrim?" John asked.

"It's a patrol of the Jewish Palestine Police." Lester White said. "Basically the Haganah."

They sat in the shade, slowly drinking their tea while they waited. It wasn't long before the desert police arrived, their horses snorting as they dismounted. Lester White went to meet them while the others waited. They didn't feel like moving. Presently, one turned his horse around and rode away, the other stayed. Lester White nodded once, then walked back to the tent.

"He's going to get a lorry." he said, kneeling down next to them. "You're all going straight to Beersheba. There's an army doctor there who'll have a look at Baraka and Miss Blackett."

"Are you leaving?" John asked, but his face did not show any surprise.

"Yes," Lester White said, then stuck out his hand to shake John's firmly. "I can only apologize for everything that's happened, but you'll be all right now." He paused. "The Royal Navy is lucky to have you."

He stood up, looking at them a moment, then abruptly left them, clambering up behind the sergeant on his swift desert horse, the kind brought in from Arabia.

"Why has he gone?" Peggy asked.

"They'll spirit him away, no doubt," John explained, lowering his voice. "The Haganah may not approve of the Irgun, but they protect their own."

"I wonder if we'll ever see him again," Roger said as the distant horse and riders was swallowed by the haze.

"No," John said. "We never will. I'd be surprised if Lester White was even his real name."

"I wonder what it is."

John shrugged. "He's a strange chap."

They were having their third or fourth round of tea when they heard the lorry, growling over the crest of the hill. The doors slammed on the cab and two British officers were running towards them as several soldiers hopped down from the bed of the lorry.

"Lieutenant John Walker?"

"That's me." John stood up, ducking out of the tent to meet them.

"I'm Captain Colin Mackenzie; I'm delighted to meet you."

"And I you," John said, returning his salute. "More than you know."

"We heard that you had gone missing, but we never thought you'd pop up over here," Captain Mackenzie said with a smile. "I'm certainly glad you did. We'll have the honour of turning you over to the Navy."

The Bedoiuns gathered around, flashing smiles as Nancy was lifted up into the bed of the lorry. The other officer was bending over her, feeling her forehead and checking her pulse. She felt a needle sliding into her hand and then a bit of tape to hold it in place.

"You're a brave lassie," he said with a comforting brogue and she opened her eyes to see the sun gleaming through a bottle of plasma.

"Are you Scottish?" she asked.

"Ian MacRae of the Seaforth Highlanders at your service, madam. Our Captain is Viscount Fortrose, the son of the Earl of Seaforth, so we're all a big happy family here," he said, then handed the bottle of plasma to Peggy who was handily near. "Hold on to that, will you miss?"

"How do you think her arm is?" Peggy asked worriedly. "We did the best we could, but I'm afraid it's not set right. We could only put it in a splint."

"Actually," Doctor MacRae said, "The splint is probably the best thing you could have done for her. It can be adjusted to allow for swelling and is less damaging than a cast. I'll have a better look at it when we arrive, but from what I can see, all looks well. Did you do this?"

"We all did."

"Don't listen to her," Roger said, walking around the lorry to look at them. "She's been keeping them alive since the crash."

"There wasn't much I could do," Peggy said.

"Not a great deal anyone could do, but I think you've done all you could." Doctor MacRae pointed out. "Let me shake you by the hand, lassie. Have you considered the medical profession?"

"Yes, I have," Peggy said, suddenly smiling.

"How's the monkey?" Doctor MacRae asked, turning to Roger.

"Quite well, thank you."

The talk blurred above Nancy, mixing together like a sort of song. John was still with the Bedouins. He was talking, trying to put his thoughts into Arabic and failing miserably, but the patriarch was smiling as his white beard fluttered in the wind. He seemed to understand what John was trying to say.

"I'm trying to learn the language myself," Captain Mackenzie was saying as they walked towards the lorry, "But I'm not getting on. You seem to have a better handle on it than I have. How do you deal with the different dialects?"

"Not very well," John said with a grin. "I was trying to say 'thank you'."

"I think they know that."

Nancy heard the doors slam on the cab and the engine whine into life. The lorry roared around and laboured up the hill, it was mostly gravel here, but the going was dreadfully bumpy and it jarred Nancy and Baraka mercilessly. They were assured that there was a road close by, but it seemed forever before they reached it.

The land changed very drastically in a short amount of time. There were bouncing through a grove of olive trees, their silvery leaves flashing in the sun and Roger noted that there was a good bit more grass spreading over the countryside. It was dry and stiff, but grass all the same. They saw cacti, growing tall and spiny, reminding Roger, at least, of a bit of Australia he had once seen what seemed now an eternity ago.

They reached Beersheba around noon, passing through the outskirts of the town; all tawny brick and Cyprus trees growing in groves. What they saw had mostly been built by the Turks when they controlled that area. It was not large, but it seemed like an Eden compared to what they had seen. None of them were really hungry; they only wanted more water when they arrived.

Captain Mackenzie came into the room they had filed into and told them that he had informed the Navy that they had been found. "Lieutenant Walker? Captain Walker is on the telephone and would like to speak with you."

John followed him out of the room to the hall where the telephone was being held by an orderly.

"Hello?" John said.

"Hello, old man," his father's voice was calm and strangely steadying. For the first time since the crash John suddenly felt that it was over, that his mission was accomplished. He closed his eyes.

"Still there?"

"Yes," John said, finding his voice again. "We're all well. Have you told mother?"

"Yes, I'll call her as soon as I can. She's taken a boat to Alexandria."

"She _has_?" John exclaimed. "Have you told the Blacketts too?"

"They're flying down."

John closed his eyes in agony, "We tried to get back as soon as we could."

"I'm sure you did. You'll have to tell me about it sometime; it sounds like quite an adventure." There was a hint of a laugh in Captain Walker's voice. "Is Roger right there?"

"Do you want me to get him?"

"No, no, don't bother," Captain Walker said. "Hopefully I'll see you all tomorrow. I should say goodbye. I need to call your mother."

John hung up the telephone carefully and stood for a moment, staring at it. Captain Mackenzie looked at him, his expression unreadable, "Family upset?"

"No, not too much," John said, turning to him with wry smile.

"My father's a Colonel," Captain Mackenzie said. "He's a very calm, steady fellow."

John looked at him; they were of the same age and rank, he and the captain- The rank of lieutenant holds more water in the Navy than in the army- and though Captain Mackenzie was a viscount and would someday inherit an earldom, he somehow felt he had quite a bit in common with the soft-spoken Scotsman.

"We'll try to ship you to Jaffa as soon as possible," Captain Mackenzie said, suddenly snapping to attention. "But you probably are aware that we're in a bit of a war zone here. The Arabs have been striking since spring and they've been targeting the train and bus systems with mines and bombs. I hope we can get you back into Egypt soon."

* * *

Susan had met them at Victoria Station in London, battling through the crowd with her purse above her head calling their names until she reached them, breathless, but in one piece. Captain Flint met her half way, parting the press of people to get her through.

"Susan," Mrs. Blackett said nothing more, only hugged her.

"I'm Bob," Mr. Blackett said almost hesitantly. He held out his hand and she took it.

"I'm very, very pleased to meet you," she said seriously. "Peggy has written so much about you."

There really wasn't any doubt that she would go with them. She had meant to go down to Malta in a few weeks for a visit, but after a brief conversation with her employers, she was allowed to go early. Mrs. Blackett latched onto her from the beginning and it took all of Susan's rare skills to divert panic. The next day they flew out of Calshot to land in Sicily, then took the mail line across the Mediterranean to the small airport just outside of Alexandria.

The late afternoon shadows were long as Mrs. Walker, Titty, Bridget, Andrew, Admiral Huskisson, Miss Huskisson and the Great Aunt waited for them on the tarmac next to the two horse drawn carriages they had hired to bring them through the city. Mrs. Walker was running to the plane before the engines were turned off, calling information as she went and as Susan craned her head at the window, she saw that her eyes were bright with unshed tears.

"They've been found!" she was calling as the door was opened and they climbed down. "They've been found. They're all right!"

"Thank God," Bob Blackett barely knew that he spoke aloud.

The next moment they were all together standing on the tarmac, asking questions and mostly getting no replies. Susan looked around to see Titty standing next to her.

"I'm glad you're here," Titty said quietly.

"But where _are_ they?" Captain Flint roared at last and the talking quieted.

"They're in Palestine."

"Where? Why?"

"It's a long story and I don't know it very well myself," Mrs. Walker said. "Let's go to the Hotel and talk about it."

* * *

**Author's Note:** Colin Mackenzie, the Scottish captain, is a character on lone from an original story I am working on. Rose is the sort of person who likes all the stories we come up with to be tied together somehow, like having such-a-person's grandfather meeting somebody-or-other somewhere at some point. So if you were scratching your head about him, he's just a character from another story who got to have a cameo in this one.

~Psyche


	22. The City of David

July 17, 1936. Morning Watch 0800

* * *

The City of David

* * *

_Oh, the comfort, the inexpressible comfort of feeling safe with a person, having neither to weigh thoughts nor measure words, but pouring them all out, just as they are, chaff and grain together, certain that a faithful hand will take and sift them, keep what is worth keeping, and with a breath of kindness blow the rest away. _

_~ Fathers, _Dinah Craik

* * *

Nancy woke to the skirl of bagpipes.

She had never liked bagpipes, but as she lay there and listened, she enjoyed every second of it. There was something comforting about hearing the cheerful sounds of pipes and drums when she had just spent two days walking across a desert without a speck of life in sight.

By the light slanting through the tall window across the plastered wall, she knew that it was near noon. She had slept all morning. Her arm still throbbed and it hurt worse in ways than it did when she had first broken it, but otherwise, she felt very well and she climbed out of the bed to look out the window.

The room was small and it overlooked the town square. It was a little, dusty, windblown town; even the cypress trees seemed dusty. There was some stone monument in the middle of the square dating from Turkish times and it seemed somehow incredible that General Allenby had marched into this same town, had stood in that same square only twenty years ago.

There was the faint sound of the door latch and Nancy looked around to see Peggy slipping into the room.

"Oh!" Peggy said. "You're up! How are you feeling?"

"Quite well, actually." Nancy said. "How about you?"

"Quite well."

"Where are my clothes?" Nancy asked. "And is there any water to be had?"

"I'll get them, they were being washed," Peggy said. "Would you like tea? Or just water?"

Nancy looked hopeful, "Both?"

When Peggy returned, Nancy was back at the window, fantasising about the past. She turned as the door closed.

"Maybe I'll become a historian and write books," Nancy said suddenly as Peggy handed her the dress. "But I've never been able to write very well..."

She trailed off, looking back out the window. She picked up the mug of tea Peggy had put on the side table and drank it thoughtfully.

"You probably could if you tried," Peggy said. "You're good at everything you try."

"Not really," Nancy said as she awkwardly squirmed into the dress. It was a halter neck and she was glad of that because it made putting it on over her arm easier. "I still don't know what I want to do with myself. I'd make a rotten teacher; I'm too impatient to be a nurse... I just don't know. My dress is too big!"

"Of course," Peggy said. "We all lost a lot of weight."

"So we did," Nancy said. "I should have known."

"You need to decide how well you're feeling," Peggy said. "We're going to Jerusalem to meet Captain Walker as soon as you're feeling well enough to travel."

"What about Baraka?" Nancy asked.

"Doctor MacRae operated on him last night. He's doing much better, but he won't be coming with us."

"What are we waiting for, then? Let's _go!_" Nancy exclaimed. "But, I say, will there be time for you to help me wash my hair? I can't get on a train looking like this."

~o*o~

They left Beersheba behind, boarding the train at the little Turkish train station just outside of the town. Doctor MacRae had looked at Nancy and declared her fit enough to travel.

"Just try to rest as much as you can," he said. "For a lassie that was half dead yesterday, you've made a remarkable comeback."

"That's my specialty," Nancy had said with a laugh.

Captain Mackenzie drove them to the station and saw them off, telling them that he had made reservations at the King David Hotel.

"You should get there in about an hour," he said. "But you won't want to do any more travelling today. So long."

They had a compartment to themselves as the train pulled away from the platform. John and Roger both looked decidedly neater than they had for the past couple of days. They had both started looking rather scruffy, but now they looked as they ought, a serious naval officer and a sunburnt tropical explorer with a monkey. Well, they were all sunburnt. Peggy's skin was fairer than Nancy's and she had suffered more from the sun, but, Nancy found out, she had worn Roger's sun helmet a good deal of the time.

"I didn't really need it," Roger had said modestly. "After all, I have a lot of hair."

"Are you saying that I'm going bald?" Peggy had exclaimed.

The train rushed north, the telegraph poles flashing past. It was remarkable how quickly the countryside turned from complete desert to farmland. The earth was still dry, but neat rows of olive trees and date palms swept away towards the hills and they saw irrigated fields of wheat and rye, squarish and well cultivated, suddenly bringing a strangely vivid picture of England to the minds of the travellers. It was clear that the people who lived here were making the best of a bad job. Trying to farm desert seemed a hopeless cause, but here at least, they seemed to have the will to succeed.

"How have you liked your travels so far?" Roger asked at last, after staring out the window for a very long time.

"Very much," Nancy said. "It's well enough to read about places, but actually going there is very different. I can't wait to see the pyramids close up."

"I like meeting the people," Peggy said. "They're all so different everywhere. I love seeing the places where they're still living as they did hundreds of years ago."

"Or thousands," John said. "The further south you go the more ancient the cultures become. In a great deal of Asia and the Middle East and Africa, the people are living as they did thousands of years ago. It's quite fascinating."

"Where have you been, so far?" Nancy asked, looking at him.

"The Mediterranean, of course," John said. "The Caribbean, India, Australia, Burma, Malay and the Red Sea... I had the honour of meeting Haile Selassie when he came aboard _Hood._"

"We dropped into Holland a couple years ago," Roger said nonchalantly. "I don't suppose you'd remember..."

"Oh, shut up."

"Where else would you like to go?" John asked.

"Oh, everywhere," Nancy said. "But I'd really like to see more of Europe, especially before there's a war. I'm afraid if there is a war a great deal of it will be destroyed like in the last."

John nodded seriously.

"Where would you like to go?" Nancy asked. "If you could pick one place on earth and go there?"

John didn't hesitate, "Home."

Nancy hadn't expected him to say anything else, really and realized with a bit of a shock that, other than a stint at the naval college last year, he hadn't really been home for three years. He had been at sea.

"But I'd like to go to Hong Kong," John added a little later. "And see if the house I was born in is still there."

"You were born in _Hong Kong_?" Nancy gasped. "Giminy! Golly! How exciting _that_ must have been!"

"Well, I don't exactly remember." John said with a grin.

"It still must be exciting to think about." Nancy said. "Why in the world were you all there?"

"The war was still going full blast when I was born," John pointed out with a grin. "They were married in 1914 just before the war started. My mother didn't go home when she ought to have and stayed in Hong Kong where my father was stationed. He finally convinced her to get on a ship bound for Australia. We didn't actually end up going to England until 1919 when father was transferred to home waters."

"And Titty and I were born in England," Roger said. "Which is rather boring."

"I've always admired your mother a great deal," Nancy said. "She's such a strong person."

"She's a full time mother," John said. "You have to be strong to be one of those."

Nancy hesitated, "did she ever want to be anything else... I mean, before she was married?"

John looked at her a moment, with a strange look in his eyes, "I don't know. She met my father when she was fourteen, in Sydney harbour after she capsized her cousin's dinghy."

"She didn't have any plans after that but marrying him," Roger said with a grin.

"Steady on, Roger," John said.

"She said it herself," Roger said.

"Did you ever go back to Australia?" Nancy asked, suddenly wanting to change the subject. She loved Mrs. Walker, nearly as much as she did her own mother and she admired her fiercely. She always had, but now, for some reason, talking about her made a queer feeling flutter in her stomach.

"We all went there the year before we met you, I think it was." Roger said. "It was before Father was transferred to Malta, anyway."

"1928," John said.

"It's a bit of a long trip," Roger noted. "But Grandfather's sheep station is something else. It's simply massive, goes on for miles. We rode around on horses a lot and saw a lot of kangaroos and koala bears."

Nancy's eyes sparkled. "Giminy-"

She was cut off by the train jolting violently and the long, ear piercing shriek of the breaks as it slowly skidded to a halt, screaming over the tracks. Peggy's eyes were wide as she glanced at Nancy and Gibber shrieked himself from where he sat on the luggage rack above their heads. All together too many unacceptable things had been happening to him lately and his nerves were thin.

Slowly, the countryside came to a halt and there came the long hiss of the train letting off a lot of steam.

"What...was that?" Nancy asked slowly, more angry than afraid; the jolt had shaken up her bruised body with stabs of pain.

"Depressurizing," Roger said. "They wouldn't want the engine to blow while we're sitting here."

"I mean, why did we stop?" Nancy said. "I know why they're letting off steam."

"Half a minute," John was already on his feet and opening the door of the compartment to step out into the corridor. "I'll go find out."

"Probably a cow on the tracks," Roger said easily, standing up to coax Gibber down from the luggage rack.

"They don't seem to have a lot of cows here," Peggy pointed out.

"A camel then," Roger said. "A train hitting a camel at full speed could probably derail."

"I'd think it would run away first."

Nancy looked out the window again, letting Peggy and Roger banter away in the compartment. It seemed altogether strange that they were sitting in a train in the heart of Palestine. Altogether strange and very exciting.

She glanced over as the compartment door slid open and John came in, he looked serious again as he sat down.

"There was a mine planted on the tracts," he said at last. "Fortunately a shepherd was able to signal the train to stop in time. They're defusing it now."

"You mean we almost ran over a mine?" Nancy asked.

"Very nearly."

They were quiet after that, alone with their thoughts. John hadn't been much in Palestine, but he had seen pictures of locomotives derailed and laying on their sides. Roger was glad they hadn't hit it and coaxed Gibber down from the rack to feed him nuts. Peggy stared out the window, but she was rather paler than usual and Nancy's vivid imagination was already at work. In her mind's eye, she could see the train chugging along, its passengers completely easy and unaware and suddenly there was a great explosion, a ball of fire under the pilot truck, lifting the engine into the air and dumping it over with a crash and an explosion of steam... as if it were a child's toy.

"Giminy," Nancy said to no-one in particular.

~o*o~

It was not until an hour later that the train made steam and started again, painfully slowly at first, but gathering speed. It was good to be moving again; though they hadn't yet run out of things to be talking about (they had been over everything from buttered eggs to trigonometric functions. "They really aren't as difficult as all that," John had said. "Once you can visualize what the graphs look like, it becomes a great deal easier. I think somebody didn't teach you properly.") but John was in a dreadfully hurry to see his father and turn himself over to the Navy. He had been keeping track down to the minutes of how long he had been absent without leave and Nancy, who watched him with half a smile on her face knew exactly why he was in such a dither.

"It's no use to worry about it until we get there," Nancy said at last. "The train can't go any faster."

"Could be dangerous," Roger pointed out, his mind quickly going over the network of boiler tubes in the engine that chugged away before them. "Building up that much steam would put pressure on the boiler and any faults in the steel could blow."

John could only grin at Nancy and felt suddenly better that she knew what he was thinking. It was better that way.

They saw Jerusalem lit by the golden hour thirty minutes later. It stretched out before them, the ancient walls of the city draped over the slopes. It was a golden city and old; with square, eastern architecture, the tiny, dark windows dotting the walls as if defenders still looked down during the crusades. There was something about the air about that place; there was a golden haze over the faded walls of the city as if the saturation of the colours had been reduced and up beyond the Jaffa gait, across from the Mount of Olives, the Dome of the Rock burned in the sun like a beacon.

They were pulling into the station when Nancy looked out the window at the sand coloured station house. There were soldiers in kaki standing around in sun helmets, the butts of their rifles on the ground. They were relaxed, but their very presence made the travellers somehow uneasy. This was not a peaceful place.

"I say! There he is!" Roger exclaimed, leaning across Peggy to put up the window and wave.

Then they all saw the slim white figure of Captain Walker standing on the platform; he lifted one hand as he saw them, then the train pulled past as it slowly slid to a halt. Nancy craned her head to see him; he looked the same as she remembered, the same tanned face, the same laughing gray eyes and at the moment she had never been happier to see anyone.

"Hello, the runaways! For a bit there I thought you might have escaped again." he said when they finally opened the door of the carriage and stepped down on the platform. He shook John and Roger's hands firmly, as if to assure himself that they were solid. They stood for a moment, saying nothing, then everyone started talking at once.

"It was the Irgun..."

"We'd gone to a Souq and Gibber ran away...

"We didn't mean to..."

Captain Walker held up his hand for silence, "I've heard that line before. We'll talk this over at the Hotel. Come along, you hooligans."

He had brought an auto car and they piled in, gratefully sinking into the seats as he turned the car around and drove out of the station. The roads seemed very narrow here, as they had in old Alexandria. They had been designed hundreds or maybe thousands of years ago, not for the passage of auto cars, but donkey carts. They had seen conquering armies pass by as different cultures had occupied the city and changed it.

In the quiet confines of the car, the noises of the city were muffled and the people seemed to pass by in slow motion as the auto car inched through crowded, narrow streets. They saw the Jews flow by in robes and black skull caps, their beards tumbling over their chests as they walked down the narrow, arched alleys with the haunting, square Islamic architecture towering above them. Many of them were dressed as they had been dressed when they left their homes, in folk dresses, with braided hair. There was the guttural sound of German, they saw the flowered vests of Austrians, Czech, Italian; all driven away and reminded of an ancestry that many of them had tried to forget. Many of the German men had fought proudly in the Great War for the fatherland, but now they had been betrayed, though they had been willing to fight again. At the Wailing Wall they wept, their tears dripping to the flagstones below where crusaders had once ridden on destriers.

The Arabians looked very much as they had in Egypt, with flowing robes, the women with veils over their faces and all around them was the lilt of Arabic. They could hear the chillingly beautiful notes of a group of singers on the corner. There were pilgrims by the Jaffa Gate of all ethnicities, Americans, English, French, Swiss... it seemed that in such a place the barriers between the races would be blurred, but it was not the case, here they ran deeper.

It seemed to Peggy that history didn't seem so long ago as they drove through that ancient city. Crumbling plaster adorned arches that had been built nearly a thousand years before, but looked almost as if they had been built yesterday. The residents wore flowing robes, sheered, woven and worn in the same way that they had been years and years before. Time seemed almost bendable here, as if history had come to meet them at an alarming speed.

In the distance, beyond the line between the old city and the new, modern buildings rose, strangely out of place in that ancient city. Camels in ornamental saddles swung slowly down the road while auto cars in gleaming paint crept after them, laying on their horns. Goats trotted through the streets, little boys herded sheep to the market place in the old city and donkeys stood with one hind leg cocked, their packsaddles loaded down with produce from the plains around Jerusalem.

The King David Hotel, standing on the edge of the old city, had only been built a few years before and though a modern building, its tawny stone walls reflected the ancient architecture of the city. As they walked through the revolving doors into the beautiful tiled and inlaid lobby, alive with eastern influence, they had a sudden feeling of reaching civilization again. Nancy sat down in an armchair at a table and closed her eyes while Captain Walker handled their reservations.

They had arrived.

* * *

**Author's Note:** Here's a rather longish chapter this time. I hope you enjoyed it. ;)

~Psyche


	23. Slow Dance

July 17, 1936. Afternoon Watch 1400

* * *

Slow Dance

* * *

_Dancing with the feet is one thing, but dancing with the heart is another._

~Anonymous

* * *

"I'm guessing that you ladies will be wanting some clothes," Captain Walker commented when he sat down at their table.

Nancy jarred awake, "clothes?"

_Who wants clothes?_

"I can take you to some dress shops in the city," he continued. "I can't promise that we'll be back in Alex very quickly. I don't think I'll be able to sail at once and I was rather hoping to return you myself and not put you on a ship bound there. I'm not too keen on you all disappearing again and having to deal with your mothers."

Nancy closed her eyes again. At the moment, she didn't feel like she could move even if she wanted to. She wanted to sleep.

"It's all right, Nancy," Peggy said quickly. "I'll go, I know your size."

"There's a telegram from Mrs. Walker," Captain Walker continued, handing it to Peggy. "I don't know where exactly your mother and father are at the moment, but they should be arriving in Alex sometime this afternoon or tomorrow; I'm not sure which."

Peggy handed the telegram to Nancy. It read: _So very happy_.

Captain Walker ordered tea and they all drank it gratefully, there in arm chairs in the lobby, watching the guests coming and going, all talking and laughing as if they were on the finest picnic in the world. There were all sorts there, mostly tourists; Nancy overheard an American couple discussing how they were heading south to the Dead Sea and others were talking about Istanbul, Rome, Athens- all globe trotters on a summer holiday. Nancy and Peggy had been just like them only a few days before, now everything was different.

Presently, they went upstairs to their rooms and Nancy threw herself gratefully on a bed in the elegant room she would share with Peggy, glancing out the big window at the temple mount and the palm trees that were planted around the hotel.

"You don't mind going without me, do you?" Nancy asked. "Because at the moment I don't feel like I could move again."

"You need rest," Peggy laughed, "and you _know_ how much I like shopping! Imagine shopping in a place like this!"

"Shopping!" Nancy snorted. "More like getting lost and buying a lot of things you don't need and didn't actually want."

She sat up suddenly and looked quickly through her purse, "I'd forgotten, we haven't very much money."

"Oh," Peggy's enthusiasm melted.

"It's enough," Nancy said, handing what she had to Peggy. "Don't let Captain Walker buy anything. It goes against my grain after he's done so much for us already. He's paying for these rooms."

She laid down again, still worrying about it, but it was not in her nature to worry and sleep stole over her as she listened to the talk and laughter of the others in the next room. She heard the door when Peggy came in again, though Nancy did not have a memory of her ever leaving.

"We're going now," Peggy said. "Hopefully we'll be back pretty soon. John's not going. He says he doesn't like shopping, either."

"Good for him," Nancy said dully. "Do you mind drawing the shade?"

Peggy laughed and Nancy heard the rustle of her skirt as she crossed the room, then the light went away. Peggy was going out the door and Nancy could hear them all talking again.

"I think I have a pretty good fashion sense," Roger was saying cheerfully. "After all, the RAF has the most stylish uniforms in the service."

~o*o~

Nancy woke suddenly, staring at the shadowed ceiling.

Something had woken her and she wasn't sure what it was as she lay there with heart thumping. Then she heard another sound, a high, persistent wailing... police sirens. She rolled off the bed, sitting on the edge as a wave of dizziness swept over her, then she stood up, glancing around for her shoes.

_Hang the shoes._

The light from the sitting room blinded her, but as she blinked in it, she could see John standing by the window, staring out over the city.

"Did something just happen?" she asked, firmly shaking the sleep out of her eyes.

He glanced over his shoulder, then gestured her over. As she stood beside him, she could see palm and cypress trees and beyond them the new city, a myriad of new buildings with Turkish influence still lingering. They were looking west, in the direction of the sea, which she imagined was somewhere beyond the hills that tumbled away before them.

More immediate than the hills was a tendril of smoke, spiralling into the blue sky above a distant city block. She could see people running, tiny specs, and the light glancing off auto car windows as they tried to avoid something that was burning fiercely in the middle of the road.

"I think someone just detonated a bomb," John said quietly.

"A... bomb?" It took Nancy a moment for those words to sink it. "I say... but Peggy's out there! And your father and Roger..."

John nodded.

"Who would have done it?" Nancy asked half angrily.

"If it's in the Jewish section, than its the Black Hand that set it and if it's in the Arab section, than its the Irgun who set it."

"Do you know which it is?"

John shook his head, "I've been here hardly at all. Jaffa, yes, but not here."

Nancy stared out the window, her heart beating a little harder. The distant spec of fire was less now, but the column of smoke was thicker than it had been. Then her fear turned abruptly to anger.

"Who started this?" she asked. "Why is it happening?"

When John finally answered, she knew it wasn't really an answer at all. He was just as lost as she was. "The Arabs have vowed to drive every last Jew out of Palestine and the Jews are determined to stay for the simple reason that they have nowhere else to go."

"And according to Lester White, the Jews are pouring down here because they're in fear of their lives in Europe."

"We're caught in the middle... the British, I mean." John replied. "It's a mess. It's been a mess down here since the Turkish Empire was dismantled after the Great War... even before that."

"The more I hear about it, the more I think that the war that is coming is just a continuation of the Great War." Nancy said. "It seems like every war that comes along just picks up the threads that have been tied off from the last one. Father says the Great War was partly caused by the hash that was made of Europe after the Congress of Vienna. This one seems like it's going to have a great deal to do with the Treaty of Versailles."

John glanced at her seriously, "War is pretty awful, but I can't help thinking that a good deal more people die in the after effects of badly ended wars than they do in the wars themselves."

"When do you think it's going to be declared?" Nancy asked.

"What?"

"The second Great War," Nancy said. "It looks like it's already been going on for a while. Not just here, either, in Abyssinia and in Manchuria. I heard them talking about it on the _Hood_."

"Bloodless... for now," John said. "But still coercion and Hitler has been preaching war since the last one ended, he's already taken the Rhineland. I don't think it's going to be called a war until the last possible moment."

The others returned fifteen minutes later after Captain Walker cut their shopping trip short.

"I doubt it will happen again for a while and we a good distance away from it, but I don't want to take any chances, especially not with your people."

"I say!" Roger exclaimed when he burst into the room. "It rocked a whole row of houses."

"What was it?" John asked as they turned from the window.

"Apparently it was a bomb planted in a bus," Roger said. "But we weren't able to see it. They were redirecting traffic."

"Was anyone killed?" Nancy asked, but she realized the stupidity of the question before she even asked it.

"We don't know how many," Captain Walker said.

~o*o~

An hour later, they were dressing for dinner.

Peggy had rented them each an evening dress, because, as Captain Walker had pointed out, to come down to dinner there, you had to be dressed for the part. Out of habit, Nancy looked at the tags.

"They're both from Lanvin," she said with a laugh. "Did you do that on purpose?"

Peggy was painting on lipstick and her eyes met Nancy's in the mirror, "I might have."

"The shoes are a little tight," Nancy added a few moments later.

"You'll live," Peggy said cheerfully.

"Look out," Nancy laughed. "Look out, or I'll shiver your timbers for you."

Peggy laughed... with a twinge of regret. She hadn't heard Nancy shiver timbers for a long time.

"Do you think John has changed a great deal?" Nancy asked suddenly as she leaned over to slip on her other shoe.

"What brought this up?" Peggy asked, trying to stretch her hand far enough around her back to reach her zipper. "Can you zip up my dress?"

"I don't know..." Nancy said. "Well, yes, I do... he seemed so changed when we saw him again."

"It's probably Navy discipline."

"He's been under Navy discipline since he was born." Nancy pointed out. "I don't think he really has changed at all. He's like an old fashioned knight from a fairy story with a code of honour as rigid as Don Quixote's breastplate."

Peggy laughed, "He always has been every bit as sensitive and idealistic as Titty."

"I've always felt like I wanted to protect him because I was afraid he'd be damaged somehow."

"He hasn't yet," Peggy said with a slight smile. "Are you ready to go down?"

"Yes," Nancy said, then hesitated. "I feel so conspicuous with my arm in a sling. Maybe I oughtn't go down at all."

"You must! You wouldn't' make me go down all by myself?" Peggy exclaimed, then suddenly brightened. "I have an idea."

She rummaged through the bags she had brought from her shopping trip, then straightened, handing Nancy a paper parcel tied with string.

"Open it," Peggy said. "I was going to give it to you for your birthday, but you might as well have it now."

Nancy tore the paper off, letting it drop to the ground as a blue paisley scarf tumbled into her hands. "It's beautiful!"

"It's hand woven," Peggy said. "We can tie your arm up in it and everyone will be so busy admiring the scarf it won't even occur to them that your arm is broken."

The thing was done and Peggy stepped back to admire her. She couldn't help it, really. Nancy had never looked more beautiful than she did then, standing with the lights bringing out the red tones of her dark hair and shining like stars in her eyes.

"You look very elegant," Peggy said. She knew it wouldn't do to say anymore.

"So do you," Nancy said with a grin. "Amazon pirates in disguise."

It was a dinner dance that night and elegant couples drifted languidly across the floor in the dining room while muted lights gleamed on red mahogany. They were led to a table by a bowing, black coated waiter and Captain Walker ordered them drinks.

"Scotch on the Rocks for you too, John?" he asked. "And Roger?"

Roger stared at him.

"Don't tell your mother," Captain Walker said with a wink, "And Miss Nancy and Peggy?"

"Gin and tonic," Nancy said.

"Me too," Peggy added.

"So," Captain Walker said, leaning back into his chair. "Suppose you start from the beginning and explain how you all happened to be wandering around in the Negev, yesterday?"

~o*o~

Captain Walker was a good listener. He didn't interrupt and only asked a few questions as they pieced the story together. When at last they were done he sat back in his chair.

"The RAF, then, is it, Roger?"

"You don't mind... do you?" Roger asked apologetically.

"Mind? Why would I mind?" Captain Walker asked with a laugh. "Better a good pilot than a bad sailor."

"But I'm not a bad sailor," Roger pointed out.

"No you're not." Captain Walker said, then added hopefully, "You could still change your mind."

Roger shook his head and Captain Walker leaned across the table to slap him on the shoulder, then sat back to look at them all with crinkles around his eyes.

"You certainly are an unusual group," he remarked at last.

"Was mother really very upset?" John asked.

"She was," Captain Walker said. "But you shouldn't be too worried about that. You've upset her in the past."

Dinner came on monogrammed plates with twists of lemon peel and sprigs of parsley and they found that they weren't terribly hungry after all, just thirsty still. They talked and for some time, they were silent, watching the dancers blur past like coloured shadows, jewels glittering at their throats.

Everything _had_ started to swim before Nancy's eyes and she blinked when Captain Walker stood up suddenly and bowed.

"Will you honour me with a dance, Miss Peggy?"

Peggy's crimped hair looked like burnished gold in the lights and Nancy thought how very sophisticated she looked as she stood up, elegant in her bias cut pink gown. She was very slim, looking a little like a cut out from a fashion magazine.

"You know, John," Nancy said suddenly, as she watched her. "You still owe me a dance."

She glanced at him, her mouth twitching into a smile when she saw that he was blushing fiercely. She stood up. "That is, if you don't mind a one armed partner."

"Of course not!" John exclaimed, pushing back his chair.

"I get the next dance!" Roger called after them and Nancy grinned.

"I'm warning you," John said, putting a hand around her waist. "I have two left feet."

"I have one arm, we're even," Nancy countered. "You can't possibly dance as badly as your Sub-Lieutenant."

"I hope not."

"So do I," Nancy admitted.

They didn't talk after that, but Nancy didn't mind. She didn't feel like talking. They had a companionable silence; she didn't feel a bit awkward and she thought for a moment that perhaps she could actually like dancing after all. She realized then that the John she had known and loved when she was younger was still there... he hadn't changed inside.

Roger, from where he sat at the table, finishing up their forgotten suppers, watched them with a slight smile on his face. The lights had been turned down and they had melted into one silhouette- melded like Greek statues sculpted of dark bronze. It was an image he would remember for the rest of his life.


	24. Jaffa

July 18, 1936. Morning Watch 0530

* * *

Jaffa

* * *

_"Wouldst thou,"-so the helmsman answered, _

_"Learn the secret of the sea? _

_Only those who brave its dangers _

_Comprehend its mystery!" _

~Henry Wordsworth Longfellow

* * *

"Unexpected news," Captain Walker said at breakfast the next morning, after rousing them at five. "We've got to drive to Jaffa at once. I've got my sailing orders."

"Can you tell us where you're going?" John asked.

"Spain, to enforce a blockade."

"Then the civil war...?"

"The rebels staged a coup-de-ta," Captain Walker said. "But the republicans still have most of the country. Unless some cruel twist of fate should occur, they should be able to hold onto the country."

"A cruel twist of fate called Nazis?" John asked. "They're already supporting the rebels."

"They wouldn't risk a military intervention."

"Wouldn't they?"

Nancy sat in the shade while the others had a swim in the pool. They left shortly after; climbing into the motor car Captain Walker had driven from Jaffa.

"We've got to beat the tide," he'd explained as they left the King David Hotel behind.

Somehow they weren't really sad to leave, Peggy wanted to be back in Alexandria more than anything, to somehow explain to her mother that things hadn't gone the way they planned. John wanted his court marshal over, so he could explain that it really wasn't his fault and Roger wanted to do more flying. Nancy wasn't sure how she felt and as she looked out the back windscreen; she could see the Mount of Olives, the Wailing Wall, the Jaffa Gate...

They passed the wreckage of the bus that had been blown up the day before. It was over on its side, completely burnt out. A police officer was still directing traffic as they inched past it, slowly leaving the city.

The trip went a good deal faster than they expected. There were a few military blockades, but they were waved through without question and before long, they were passing through the outskirts of Tel Aviv, toward Jaffa. Tel Aviv was very modern, but its neighbour, Jaffa, was ancient. It was from here that Jonah departed on the sea voyage that nearly ended in the maw of a whale.

The Second Destroyer Flotilla was at anchor in a harbour that had been in use since the Bronze Age. They were treading antiquity here; like Jerusalem many of the buildings had stood during the First Crusade when knights from across Europe had ridden to avenge the massacre of six thousand pilgrims to the holy city.

~o*o~

They sailed nearly as soon as Captain Walker was aboard his ship, HMS _Hardy_, after a discussion about the weather report.

"There's a low pressure system coming from North Africa, off the Sahara," John explained when he came down from the pilot house to report to the others.

"What does that mean?" Nancy asked.

"It may mean nothing," John said. "If it continues east it will die out, but if it makes a turn and comes north it could intensify very quickly once it hits the high pressure over the sea. He has to decide whether to risk sailing or not."

"What do you think he'll do?"

"I think he'll sail."

"I say, it's a good thing we got out of the Negev when we did," Roger said. "Or else we would have been dealing with some major dust storms."

Nancy shivered. That thought was too awful to contemplate. It was all right making up stories about those things, but her time in the desert had made her realize too well that what is imagined and what is, are two entirely different animals.

"How long before we reach Alexandria?" Peggy asked.

"About thirteen or fourteen hours on a good day," John said.

John was in the pilot house again, eagerly observing his father give his orders to his flotilla as they weighed anchor and steamed out of the harbour into the glittering water of the Mediterranean.

"Before you know it, you'll be doing it yourself," Captain Walker said with a grin as he came to stand next to him in the door of the pilot house, looking out in the direction where they knew Alexandria lay. There were clouds gathering in the south, dark ones, like a menacing blanket and there was a restless feeling in the air.

"Yes," John said. Somehow it didn't occur to him to doubt that he someday would become a captain in command of a flotilla of destroyers.

"Promotions will come more quickly with the war," Captain Walker continued. "Where are you headed after this?"

"_Hood's_ going back to England for a refit." John said.

"Then, you'll probably be able to apply for a transfer," Captain Walker said. "I hate to say it, but I think the big battlewagons are a dying breed. The next war will be fought by the destroyers and aircraft."

"Do you think destroyers could sink a battleship?" John asked.

"No doubt about it," Captain Walker said. "I have a feeling that we're not going to see many brawls between battleships; it's going to be an air war. The United States has just laid down a new class of air craft carrier; they're going to be able to carry up to a hundred aircraft a piece."

They were silent after that, looking over the foredeck. Nancy and Peggy were standing below them in the shadow of the five inch gun mounts in the bows, looking out to sea. Roger was with them, Gibber on his shoulder, waving his hand about as if he owned the ship. They were laughing.

"When are you going to marry that girl?" Captain Walker asked suddenly.

John jumped and turned to look at him.

"Don't think you've been keeping it a secret, old man," his father said with a laugh.

"Do you think she'd have me?" John asked incredulously.

"Have you asked her?"

"No."

"Ask, then."

"I'm planning on it." John replied.

"I was on lieutenant's pay when I married your mother," Captain Walker said. "It can be done."

"I've been thinking about that," John said. "We'll have to pinch pennies."

"That's life... and she's a very sensible, intelligent young woman. I've been looking forward to having her as a daughter-in-law."

"I hope you aren't disappointed," John said quietly.

"So do I." Captain Walker said.

~o*o~

Compared with _Hood_, the destroyer seemed very small. John led them on a tour, from the pilot house down to the engine room, to the intense interest of the crew. The boilers were chugging away, the ship vibrating with the thrust of the propellers as she charged through the water at twenty knots. She was far smaller than the mail steamers they had been on and they could feel the motion more as her slim, elegant hull cut the waves.

"It's all so cramped," Peggy said when they climbed the narrow stairs up the fore hatch and stood on deck again.

"But the designers certainly made use of their space," Nancy added.

"It's ten times worse aboard a submarine," Roger said.

"Steady on, Roger," John said. "You've never been aboard a submarine."

"Daddy has."

The world was cut in two now, one half of the sky was blue, the other half was dark clouds, cutting off the sun and casting the fitful waves in shadow, their white crests almost glowing as they rolled forever on. John glanced up at the pilot house, then back at them. Gibber was strangely unsettled as he clung to Roger, shivering as Roger tried to comfort him.

"The depression's coming north," John said, turning from the rail. "We're in for it."

"How bad do you think it will be?" Peggy asked a little nervously.

"Probably no worse than usual," John said cheerfully. "Of course, it's different on a little ship like this. _Hood_ weathers storms better than a destroyer."

~o*o~

Six hours later Nancy vaguely wondered if she actually knew what good weather was like.

They were in the wardroom, the three of them, when Roger had the bright idea of playing a card game, but Nancy's fingers fumbled and the numbers on the cards swam before her eyes. Peggy's face was pale and Nancy stood up, tried to steady herself and sat down again. There was a line of photographs on the wall and every time the ship plunged down into a trough, they swung the other direction. The noise was terrible; it wasn't just the howling of the wind and the roar of the waves against the shuddering hull, it was the throbbing of the engines every time the propellers came high and dry out of the sea.

At last Nancy stood up and stayed on her feet, stumbling towards the door. The cramped, hot room was whirling horribly as she managed to open it and step into the corridor.

"Are you all right, Nancy?" Peggy asked.

"Yes, I'm all right." She closed the door firmly.

It wasn't true, though, she wasn't all right. She didn't think anybody could be.

There was a cold draft in the corridor and water was pooled on the floor from hurried feet that had come along here a few minutes before. Nancy stood for a moment breathing deep, steadying herself against the wall with her good arm. She had a mission now and wasn't feeling as ill. She wanted to see the storm. Just hearing it wasn't enough.

The door was up some steps, she remembered, there was an overhang, she would be able to look out there with no danger of washing away. She hurried down the cold, gray corridor, listening as the door opened at the end, the wind suddenly increasing. A sailor in oilskins was coming towards her, wiping water out of his eyes.

"You don't want to go down there, miss," he said when he saw her.

"Yes I do," Nancy said. He didn't try to argue.

She never could have prepared herself for what she saw when she finally managed to get the watertight door open with one hand a few minutes later. Sea water rushed past her ankles, breaching the high threshold of the door the way the ocean breaches a dike and rain struck her full in the face like a fist.

She was standing directly below a 40 millimetre anti-aircraft gun emplacement and before her, past the tall, gray superstructure; she had a clear view of the bows, completely awash in sea water as a burst of spray exploded like the white mane of a horse. The destroyer was headed into the oncoming waves to keep from being swamped and a wall of gray-green sea water, overlaid with lacy foam, was rolling towards her, towering higher and higher. Spray burst over the bows again as ship met sea, charged up the crest and coasted down the other side again, only for another mammoth wave to come crashing down on her from above.

Nancy clung to the swinging door with all her might as ice-cold water burst past her, drenching her from head to toe. She saw a hunched figure working its way towards her, holding onto the rungs of a service ladder as the wave came down, then he was next to her, pulling the door closed against the storm.

"Nancy!"

It was John, staring at her incredulously. "What are you doing here?"

"I wanted to see the storm," she explained through chattering teeth.

"Well, you've seen it," he had her by the elbow and propelled her down the corridor. "How many times do you want to cheat death?"

"As many times as I can," Nancy said.

"You're crazy."

"It was worth it."

He pushed open the wardroom door, to be met immediately by Peggy, her eyes wide.

"We're not sinking, are we?" Peggy asked and was at once a little ashamed.

John stared at her, "Not at all, we couldn't be further from it." Then he smiled. "Don't worry, if we start sinking I'll come and tell you."

~o*o~

"It's this beastly storm that has me worried," Bob Blackett explained, throwing himself down in his chair.

"There have been worse," Jim Turner pointed out.

They were in the bar of the Hotel Cecil, the ten of them around one large table. All the other guests of the hotel had long since gone to bed, but the bar was still open, lamplight glittering on upside-down glasses while the bartender slept on his stool.

Titty took another sip of her coffee, but her eyes were still closing. Bridget head was falling forward and Susan smoothed the hair out of her sister's face, "I think you should go to bed, keep Andrew company."

Bridget came awake suddenly, "Oh!"

"Don't make her," Titty said.

"Well, they're late, anyway," Bob Blackett said.

"He'll have to have changed course because of the storm," Admiral Huskisson said.

"They were supposed to be here this afternoon. It's..." Bob looked at his watch, "Tomorrow."

"No matter Robert," the Great Aunt said suddenly. "Captain Walker is an experienced naval officer. I'm sure he is quite competent."

Bob Blackett looked up at her with surprise and it seemed to him somehow, that in her strange cold way, she was trying to comfort him.

"Well, it's Daddy, anyway," Susan said at last. "He knows the Mediterranean like the back of his hand. It's no good worrying. They'll be all right."

They talked after that, about old times.

Bob Blackett absorbed the talk the way a sponge soaks up water, he, like Bridget who sat across the table from him, was wishing with all his heart that he could have known the things the others knew and seen the things the others had seen. Mrs. Walker told about the first summer they had gone up to the lakes' district and about how the children had first met. Jim Tuner laughed about how Swallow sank the next year and how the children camped in Swallowdale until her plank was mended.

"Was that the owl at midday?" Bridget asked suddenly.

There was a stunned silence and unbidden eyes flickered towards the Great Aunt and away again. Captain Flint coughed and Titty kicked her under the table.

"You know," Bridget said impatiently. "The time John hooted like an owl behind Beckfoot at midday."

"Yes," Captain Flint said at last, when he could avoid it no longer. "I think I remember something of the sort... but you know, it was so long ago... I say, I did have a time that summer climbing up that lighthouse tree on Wildcat Island. John shinnied up like a little monkey, but that summer I had to do it."

The talk flowed on from there, but Bridget noticed with half her mind that the Great Aunt had a most peculiar expression on her face and a little while later, it cleared and she laughed quietly to herself. Bridget had to admit that she had never seen the old lady laugh, quietly or otherwise... but then, she hadn't seen her much at all.

Slowly, the fury of the storm subsided. Looking out the windows across the room, they could see that the riding lights of the fleet were no longer rising and falling as much as they had. The room was quiet and as the gentle, silver fingers of dawn crept across the floor, lighting pale faces and making the yellow lights in the room fade, they heard voices in the entrance hall.

A clear, ringing laugh echoed into the room.

Titty half stood up, "It's them! They're here!"

* * *

Author's Note: One chapter to go! And our snow is melting!

~Psyche

Guest1: Of course Lanvin and Worth had to pop again! Thanks again for the review, I'm glad you're still enjoying it. :)


	25. Sunset and Evening Star

July 19, 1936. Middle Watch 0345

* * *

Sunset and Evening Star

* * *

...But such a tide as moving seems asleep,  
Too full for sound and foam,  
When that which drew from out the boundless deep  
Turns again home.

Twilight and evening bell,  
And after that the dark!  
And may there be no sadness of farewell,  
When I embark...

~Alfred, Lord Tennyson

* * *

After the first tearful greetings, John found himself standing to one side. He wasn't much of a talker, and now, after it was over, Nancy, Peggy and Roger seemed to be doing a very good job of talking. He only stood and watched.

Titty had come up to squeeze his hand. Neither said anything, but they knew exactly what the other was thinking.

"You must be awfully tired," she said quietly.

"Yes," John replied.

"John Walker?"

John looked around, half startled to see Miss Turner walking to him. To his great surprise, she held out her hand and he took it hesitantly.

"I am really very sorry that I did not recognize you," she said, a bit stiffly, but her tone was genuine. "You should have reminded me."

"I'm sorry...?" John trailed off.

"Surely you remember," Miss Turner said. "You are my owl at midday."

"Oh...yes."

"I am afraid I misjudged you and your siblings some years back... I did not have the pleasure of getting to know you," Miss Turner didn't sound stiff at all now. "I very much hope we can be good friends after this."

"Of course!" John exclaimed, taking her hand with both of his.

"Good," Miss Turner said with a bit of a smile, then she turned and threaded her way through the crowd to where Molly Blackett was standing.

"Rum." Bob Blackett said and John realized that he had been standing nearby. "Very rum indeed."

"Yes," John said. He thought Nancy's father had expressed himself rather well.

"I've wanted to meet you too," Bob Blackett said, sticking out a hand. "I've heard quite a bit about you."

John shook his hand eagerly and found himself again at a loss for words. What to say to a man who had been prisoner in Siberia for eighteen years and barely escaped with his life? It was a little like _Les Miserables_ or _The Count of Monte Cristo_ come to life.

"I've always wanted to meet you," John said.

"Have you?" Bob Blackett said, slightly surprised.

The story, of course, had to be told from beginning to end and everyone stole chairs from other tables and listened while the adventurers related their travels from beginning to end. The guests at the hotel were filtering in as morning drifted by and some caught snatches of the conversation as they ordered coffee at the bar.

"Sorry to have lost my motor bike," Roger said. "But it kept conking out on me, anyway."

"I'm sorry to have lost the dhow," John said with a grin.

"Is John really going to be court marshalled?" Bridget asked.

"Not he," Captain Walker said with a laugh. "He's the only one who thinks his offense was serious. Admiral Cunningham will probably have a summary hearing and dismiss him with a caution not to be kidnapped again."

"And I'd like to go and get it over with, if you don't mind," John said. "Admiral Cunningham was very understanding to allow me to come ashore first, but I don't want to put it off."

~o*o~

The sun was high over a brilliant world as they watched Captain Walker's launch churn across the harbour towards _Hood_, where she lay at anchor. They were standing under the grove of date palms and street lights across the street from the Hotel Cecil, on the bank that sloped down to a line of fishing boats, watching them through brightly painted eyes.

"Invite the Admiral for supper," Mrs. Walker had said before they left, speaking for them all.

"What's this?" Captain Walker had asked with a sly smile. "Bribery?"

They saw the distant launch swing alongside the tall, gray sides of the battlecruiser and the tiny white figures climb up the accommodation ladder to the deck.

John's fate was nigh.

"Anyone for lunch?" Roger asked.

~o*o~

"What happened to the GA? I've been meaning to ask."

That afternoon, they had all gone upstairs to dress for dinner. Peggy had gone down the hallway to ask Susan something about her hair and Nancy had followed wondering what dress she should be wearing.

Nancy was sitting cross-legged on Susan's bed, watching through the bathroom door as Susan's reflection carefully pinned Peggy's hair.

"I don't really know," Titty said, swinging around the bathroom door. "When we arrived in Alexandria I was expecting squalls, but they never came. Maybe she's finally realized that she was wrong about us."

"Mother thinks it was because she got to know John and Roger before she really knew who they were," Bridget said.

"She is awfully unpleasant," Nancy said, "But I really do think that I've misjudged her over the years... and she's misjudged us."

"She's still nasty about Father," Peggy said.

"Yes," Nancy said grimly.

"Why doesn't she like your father?" Susan asked through the bobby pins in her mouth.

"She always thought mother married below her station," Nancy said. "She never let her forget it, especially after he disappeared. She always had to point out how much better off we'd have been if mother had married someone with means."

"She can't think herself so far above your father," Susan said. "She hasn't any connections..."

"We used to, or our family did, anyway, years back." Nancy said. "My illustrious ancestor made his fortune after the industrial revolution in textiles and he married the daughter of an Earl. There was an estate that was slowly divvied up over the years. By the time Mother and Uncle Jim came along all that was left was Beckfoot; it doesn't belong to us at all, it belongs to Uncle Jim."

"Beckfoot was a hunting lodge," Peggy explained. "And the Dog's Home was the kennels, but that was years and years ago. Beckfoot was built in the 1700's."

"I never knew it was that old," Titty said. "But I'm not really surprised."

"Aren't you going to get dressed, Nancy?" Peggy asked.

"Yes," Nancy said.

She slipped off the bed and left the room, their talk and laughter following her down the hallway. She was lost in thought when her mother saw her standing in the door of their suite.

"Penny for your thoughts?" Mrs. Blackett asked.

"I was just thinking how strange it is that it's all over," Nancy said.

"I supposed you'd feel that way."

"Everyday life is so dull," Nancy said hopelessly. "I have to go back to worrying about dresses and people and what I'm going to do with myself now that I'm supposed to be grown up."

"You'll find a new adventure soon enough," Mrs. Blackett said with a little laugh. "I think you'll find that ordinary life can be exciting too, just not in the same way."

"I wish everything would go back to how we were when we were younger. I once said I wanted to live on Wildcat Island forever and ever. I always half thought I could put off growing up and always be young like Peter Pan."

"But you knew you couldn't," Mrs. Blackett said with a laugh. Then she glanced at the door. "Do you feel well enough to go to dinner?"

Nancy shrugged, "I suppose."

"It will all turn out," Mrs. Blackett said, putting an arm around Nancy's waist. "I promise."

~o*o~

Roger, Gibber, Bob Blackett, Jim Turner and Admiral Huskisson were in white wicker chairs in the smoking lounge when John, Captain Walker and Admiral Cunningham arrived for dinner.

"All well?" Bob Blackett asked when he saw John's smile.

"We'll throw him in the brig after dinner," Captain Walker said with a laugh.

They sat and talked. The conversation turned unbidden to the navy, a subject near to nearly all their hearts, and the last war. It was talk of brawls between titan ships; fire breathing leviathans of the sea. Bob Blackett alone had never seen big guns fire and he tried to imagine the sheer sound and power of things that could hurl half-ton shells nearly twenty miles. As they talked, he could almost see the massive sixteen inch guns of the Rodneys swinging around for a broadside, _Hood_'s fifteen inch batteries joining in like thunderous applause.

"Did you always plan to be in the Navy?" Bob Blackett asked John at last, while the others talked.

"It never occurred to me to do anything else," John said with a grin.

"So, you already knew how to sail before you ran afoul of my daughters?"

"Yes," John said. "I'm not sure if I remember a time that I didn't know. My mother sailed when she was a girl in Australia and my father, like my grandfather, joined the navy."

"I didn't know anything about sailing until I met Jim. I could row well enough; later we rowed at Oxford together, he and I." Bob Blackett said. "I would think that if you like sailing so much you wouldn't like to be in the Navy."

"I don't mind it," John said. "I always used to think that steam ships were tin biscuit boxes and the ships in the navy are cookie cutter tin biscuit boxes, but it's much more than that, it's the navigation and the tides, the wind and storms, and the men. You get to learn the sea and the shape of the land and eventually the ship takes on a life of her own."

"Would you rather live a hundred years ago when warships were still propelled by sails?" Bob Blackett asked curiously.

John thought for a moment, then said at last, "I don't know."

"John," Mr. Blackett said quietly. "I've got to thank you for all you've done for my daughters these past few days. I haven't really known them very long, as you know, and I think that it hadn't been for you, I might have been going to their funerals. I'm deeply indebted to you... and your brother."

"If Roger hadn't landed that plane then we'd all be dead." John said seriously. "But I didn't do anything out of the ordinary."

"Oh, I think you did," Bob Blackett said.

"I was wondering..." John trailed off. "I was wondering if it would be all right if I wrote to Nancy? We've known each other a long time and I thought..."

Bob Blackett looked at him shrewdly for a moment, "If you want my permission, you have it."

~o*o~

The first bright glow of sunset was rippling across the sky as dinner was served. Two tables had been put together on the roof to accommodate them all and they had a fine view of the harbour stretching below them and meeting the sea.

It was as Nancy had imagined it when she was half delirious in the Negev; dinner on the roof of the hotel, just as the sun was setting and the first stars were stepping out across the sky. It was like dinner after an exciting play, after all the acts had gone by and the actors have taken their last bows. She was glad that it was over, but she regretted it, too. She wanted to go back and revisit all the places they had left behind.

Dusk fell, dinner was finished with and dessert followed. Nancy found herself standing up and walking to the ornamental railing that went around the edge of the roof to look out at the harbour and the riding lights of the fleet that gleamed like the stars reflected in the water. She looked up and wasn't really surprised to see that John was standing next to her.

"What are you going to do with yourself after this?" he asked.

"We're going to take the train to Cairo," Nancy said. "And see the pyramids. Your people are coming with us. I suppose you wouldn't be able to?"

"No," John said. "_Hood _is sailing soon. She's going back to home waters for a refit, so I'll be in England before you are."

"You'll have to come visit us when we get back," Nancy glanced up at him. "While we're in Cairo I'm going to look up Dick and Dot. I have their address."

"Tell them I said 'hello'."

"I will."

"Do you mind..." John began hesitantly. "If I wrote you?"

"Don't be a blockhead, John," Nancy said with a laugh. "Of course you can write to us. We'd love to hear from you."

"No," John said. He looked away towards the harbour and he lights that danced on black water. "No... I meant, can I write to _you?"_

"Oh," Nancy looked up at him with a queer fluttering in her heart. She caught her breath. "Yes, you can... and I'll write back."

* * *

_See the pyramids along the Nile,_

_See the sunrise on a desert isle,_

_Just remember, darling, all the while,_

_You belong to me._

~ Pee Wee King, Chilton Price and Redd Stewart

* * *

**Author's Note:** So...we don't actually have a good excuse why we took so long to post this chapter, except that we forgot, which is a regular occurrence with me.

Now that the story is over, how did we do? Were there bits that you think need to be changed, or things that should be added? Please be honest. We want to know exactly what you thought of the story.

Happy writing!

~Rose and Psyche

**Guest1:** As always, thank you for all your wonderful reviews. We really enjoyed hearing from you over the course of the story, and hope you enjoyed your experience as well.


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